The Demon's Pet
by Caught In A Simple Game
Summary: Dean goes to kill a woman, unaware of who and what she really is. (Demon!Dean x OFC)
1. Captive

" _Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon."_

Dean Winchester never would have guessed that demons could dream, until he became a demon and dreamed those words over and over again.

Not that he so much slept as passed out. He was still new to demon-hood, his body was still adjusting to the new boundaries and limitations of his soul. He could handle a whole new level of liquor before his mind and body gave out on him. When they did, he heard Crowley's voice over and over, repeating those words; the words that were spoken to him as the Mark took hold over death.

They didn't often wake him, but tonight he couldn't find that peaceful place that let him rest. He sat back against the headboard of his motel room bed and reached for the bottle of whiskey he always kept next to the night stand.

Some things never changed.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Crowley stated casually, appearing in the doorway.

Dean swallowed down what was left of the whiskey and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Let me guess. You have a job for me."

"I'm hurt, Squirrel. I thought we were friends – BFFs. Can't I stop by to check on my BFF, see how he's adjusting to his new life?"

"Cut the bullshit, Crowley."

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. Probably better not to beat around the proverbial bush. I do indeed have a job for you – actually, two. First one is simple, cashing in on one of my contracts. Finish that one, and I've got something really big for you."

"Why not tell me now?"

"Anxious to get it done with?" Crowley had noticed moments of humanity still in Dean, and stayed alert to the possibility that Dean's demon status may have been temporary while the Mark of Cain worked to revive him. It was a beast with a mind of its own; there was no way of knowing what would happen when the Mark was involved.

Dean rolled his eyes and gathered his equipment – including the First Blade. "Anxious to get it done with and get back to drinking and fu—"

Crowley held up a hand to interrupt him. "No need to elaborate, friend. I get it. Well, do these couple of jobs and maybe there will be a pretty blonde waiting for you when you get back."

"Who is it?"

"The blonde? Don't quite know yet, but I'm sure large breasts and a giggly personality will be involved."

Dean shook his head. "The one you want me to kill, Crowley. The important one."

"Nobody you'd know, really. Typical problem child – mother tried to kill her when she was three, she was put in the system, only to be abused and neglected her whole life. Some of my lower minions are already tailing her, for your convenience."

Dean noted mentally that Crowley failed to mention exactly why he wanted this woman dead. Thinking it over for only a couple of moments, Dean decided he didn't really care. He'd get through this first one, then get the details on the second.

Anything to feed this new life, and the Mark.

This was not the first time Zephaniah Jordan had been trailed, and, if they caught up with her, it wouldn't be the first time she had been captured, either.

She had learned, over the years, to know when she was being trailed by some idiot who thought he could easily over-power her and take what he wanted before moving on. Those men were always surprised by her ability to defend herself.

When her stalkers were demons, however, they were much less easily swayed. Her strikes only served to annoy them, especially if she added holy water to the mix. It was the reason why she maintained devil's traps in strategic places around her apartment, slept with a gallon of holy water next to her bed, and memorized every exorcism prayer her brain would absorb.

These two were not men. They didn't seem to be strong demons, but Zeph knew that she wouldn't be able to evade them or fight them off. Not for one second did that stop her from thinking she would at least try.

She was on her way home from a shift at the convenience store where she worked. Walking probably wasn't the best idea, especially since she was now mostly disarmed, save for the devil's trap in the back alley just before Jefferson on Second Street, and the flask of holy water tucked into her left boot.

Deciding that trapping these two was the smarter decision, she took a sudden turn from Osage onto Second Street, heading for the alley. She would have to slow down a little bit so she could hear their walking pattern and make sure they got caught under the trap spray painted underneath a pull-down staircase on the side of the old apartment building.

But they walked right through the trap. However that happened, Zeph realized she was now trapped in a dark alley with two demons, with nothing to even remotely assist her, save for a flask of holy water. That container didn't hold hardly enough water to escape one demon, let alone two.

Turning back to them, she swallowed hard. "You don't know who or what you're dealing with."

The bald one smirked. "Oh, yes, we do. The King of Hell sent us for you."

Zephaniah swallowed hard. "Did he now? Well, send him my regrets that I'm unable to attend whatever soiree he's got planned for me. Busy season here on Earth and whatnot."

The other demon lunged for her. Zephaniah ducked out of the way, shoving him hard into the brick wall. The bald demon flew into her abdomen, knocking the breath out of her as they both hit the pavement. Overcoming her lack of oxygen intake, she quickly rolled out of the way as that same demon made to pounce on her.

Zeph wasn't ready or expecting, however, the other demon to be ready and waiting with a brick to knock her over the head. She felt the sharp pain first, then, in quick succession, everything went black.

Since that first kill with the Mark on his arm, Dean had found that he took pleasure in the kill. Before he was a demon, before he had the Mark, it had just been knowing the monster he was trailing was dead. Then, after the Mark, it was the thrill of taking a life. Now that he was a demon, even the process of the kill proved to be decent entertainment.

This contract that Crowley wanted him to carry out was going to be fun. This guy had done the typical contract to get everything he wanted in life: the fit build, the hot chick, the six-figures-a-year job. As he stood outside of the house, Dean reveled in the idea of taking all of that away.

Slowly.

He waited until the hot chick was gone. Maybe it would have been fun to hear her scream as he tortured and killed this man, but this job had nothing to do with the woman. And anyway, Dean liked to work in peace.

He knocked on the door, then stood back in the shadows. When the man opened the door and no one was there, he opened the door even more, and took a step forward. That's when Dean made his move.

He pushed the contracted man back into the house and threw a hard punch to the dead center of the man's face. The cartilage of his nose cracked away from his skull, and blood poured from his nostrils.

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded.

Dean smiled and let his eyes go black. "You made a deal with the King of Hell, my friend. About ten years ago, before the hot piece of ass and the muscles, and the money. Well, I'm the guy he sent to get you to pay up."

"But I thought …"

"Hellhounds?" Dean supplied, wrapping a hand around the man's neck and pushing him up against a wall. "What can I say? Crowley likes to mix it up sometimes, and I'm very good at what I do. How about you have a seat and we'll see what kind of fun we can conjure up before the little lady comes home."

Dean slammed the man into a chair at the dining room table and smiled to himself as he set to work.

Zephaniah had always had the taste of blood. Not that anyone who wasn't off their rocker _enjoyed_ the taste of it, but she had always had a particular hatred for the stuff.

In her current state, shackled to a bed in two-star motel with the two demons from the alley punching, kicking, cutting, and burning her, well, there was plenty of blood to be tasted. Every strike to her mouth over the hours opened wounds that had begun to close and split open new ones. One side of her face was cut and swollen, and the other sported a large bruise. The other cuts and burns were mostly on her arms and shins, where the demons could reach without too much trouble.

"Just wait until you get to where we come from," the bald one nearly hissed, getting close to her face and licking up her cheekbone. "You taste good, girl. They'll have _lots_ of fun with you down there."

Zeph swallowed hard, fighting to maintain consciousness. She had learned from experience that if you passed out while demons were torturing you, you'd wake up way more broken than you already were.

"I'm telling you," she started, although the words sounded weak, "I'm not the kind of person you want to mess with."

They both laughed at her; it was a maniacal laughter, fit for some creepy horror movie – the kind that induced weeks of nightmares. Zeph thought maybe she could actually hear Hell in that laughter.

"We're just here on a play date. Someone else will come to finish you off," the other demon scoffed, backhanding her as if to emphasize his sentence.

"A Knight of Hell," the bald one continued while he lit a cigarette. "You _know_ the King wants you dead if he sends one of those guys. This guy in particular, well, he's a real piece of work. He was good at torture when he was human, and now – even I wouldn't mess with him."

"That's good to know."

A gruff voice on the other side of the room caused all three previous inhabitants to look over. Leaning against the small vanity in the room was the one, Zeph presumed, would be the one to kill her. His clothes and face were clean, but his hands and forearms were soaked and splattered with blood.

"Forgive my appearance," he said, raising his hands to her. "When you pull a man's heart out of his chest, it takes a little elbow grease. Especially a man of this size. He was – well, he was big."

Zephaniah swallowed hard while the demon retreated to the bathroom and came back with a hand towel, staining the terry cloth with red and pink before continuing.

"See, you have to get through the ribs first. It's like a child-proof lid on a medicine bottle. Meant to protect what's in there and gives the grown-ups a little trouble. So, you have to crack those suckers first – me, personally, I believe that if you're going to do something, do it right. So, I cut the guy open and expose the ribs, then I break a couple off before cracking his sternum to get to that sweet meat underneath."

She half-expected him to lick his fingers.

"Next, you've got to work through those vessels and connective tissue before you can actually get the heart out. Let me tell you, this guy, his cardiac output was impressive. Hence the mess when I came in."

The other two demons seemed to be giddy over Dean's description. While it wasn't the worst that Zeph had seen or heard, it didn't exactly make her want to grab a bucket of popcorn and a twenty-ounce soda to listen for more.

"How about you just do what you came here to do," she suggested.

"Now where's the fun in that." The demon took a seat next to her on the bed. "Dean Winchester, by the way. Zephaniah, right? Interesting name."

She glared at his outstretched hand. "Forgive me for not reciprocating your gesture. I'm a little locked up at the moment."

"Oh, right!" Dean threw his hands up in mock ignorance. "Gentleman, why don't you change out Miss Zephaniah's shackles for rope, then you can be on your way."

"But we wanted to see …" the bald one started to protest.

One look from Dean silenced the demon; he snapped his fingers and suddenly, Zephaniah felt the heavy iron on her extremities be replaced by the scratchy burn of rope.

"Not too tight now," Dean added.

Another snap of the bald demon's fingers, and he and his cohort were gone. Zephaniah looked back to Dean, who was now standing at the foot of the bed, looking just excited as ever to begin experimenting with his newest plaything.

"Just you and me now, sweetheart," the demon purred.


	2. Closer

Zephaniah tried to keep herself calm. This man was certainly a demon, and she knew he was a strong one at that. Not just anyone made it into the ranks of the Knights of Hell.

Dean came around from the foot of the bed, grabbed her arm and looked over the various bruises, cuts, and burns.

"They really did you good, didn't they?" Dean grinned. "Certainly a sight to behold. Though, I have to warn you, this is nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you before I take you downstairs to the big show."

Zephaniah rolled her eyes. "Do what you want. It won't change a thing."

He didn't like her tone at all. "Do you know who you're talking to? I know they warned you that I was a Knight of Hell. Maybe that doesn't worry you because you don't know what I'm capable of. My little heart surgery story didn't worry you?"

"I've seen worse. I've felt worse."

Dean moved in very close, right next to her ear, and spoke in an eerie, quiet tone. "Do you understand how much pain I could inflict on you? Do understand the position that you're in?"

Zeph turned to face him, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke with confidence. "You think I wouldn't know what you are if you hadn't told me? Do you think you're the first who has come for me?"

Dean tilted his head; his still-waning soul twitched at the sight of her, bound and beaten but still confident and fearless. He hadn't noticed anything about her that was different than any other human, so what was the enticement about her?

His question, "What are you?", elicited a laugh from his captive.

"Who are you?" she countered. "What do you want with me? Clearly you don't know enough to be here for the usual reasons."

Dean let his eyes turn black. "I'm here to kill you."

This time, her laugh was even heartier. "I told you, I know what you are. Your little mind tricks don't intimidate me. Good luck scaring me, pal. But if I were you, I would check my sources before you kill me. You'll be bringing a hell on yourself you won't recognize, and it won't be pretty for anyone within at least a hundred-mile radius."

"The fuck are you talking about?" Dean scoffed. She had to be bluffing.

Zeph's bruised and bleeding face pulling into a full-on grin. "Kamikaze much?"

He was back in her face in a second, his hand at her throat, his breath hot on her face. Zeph didn't even blink.

"If you're lying to me," Dean warned her, "you will regret it."

Zeph pushed him back and finagled her way out of the rope that bound her hands before undoing the rope at her ankles.

"How did you –"

But Dean couldn't finish his sentence. Zeph stripped her shirt off, ignoring the pain of the fabric pulling away from newly clotted wounds, drawing blood from them once again. She kicked off her shoes and shoved her jeans off her legs, tossing them to the side.

Her body was covered in scars. Some from burns, some from cuts. They stretched over her ribs, crawled across her abdomen, were peppered over her legs and arms. There were bruises in various states of healing, not to mention the new marks from her most recent torture.

"I told you, you are not the first to come for me. And it isn't just the demons – I've been in the middle of your kind and angels my whole life. I appreciate that you traded the shackles for rope, but I could have been out of it the seconds the irons came off. This is not my first rodeo, cowboy. I've lived my whole life this way."

Zeph looked up at him, challenging him to make the next move. He couldn't smell a trace of fear coming from her body.

Lust overcame him. Dean pushed her against the wall, pulled her legs up on either side of his hips, and crashed his mouth into hers. Her marred skin was soft and warm to the touch, and the whimpers she let out when he roughly cradled her injured face with his hands made him want her all the more.

Zeph surprised herself by wanting him, too. She pressed her thighs into his sides and ran her fingers through his hair, lightly tugging as her hands traveled over his scalp and then scratched into the fabric covering his back. She clutched against him as though she couldn't get close enough.

Dean wanted more than her mouth. He undid the clasp of her bra, letting the strapless garment fall away and reveal her bare breasts underneath. He gripped one hand not too tight around her neck, just under her chin, and held her there so that nothing was in his new workspace. His lips pressed against the dip where her clavicle bones met, and traveled all the way down her sternum. Smirking to himself when he saw her face calm with pleasure, Dean let his mouth stray several inches to the left, licking as he went and finally taking the apex of her breast in his mouth.

Zephaniah groaned delightfully as he worked over her nipple before moving to show her other breast the same attention. Her fingers again tangled in his hair, pressing him closer to her and silently begging him not to stop. He did stop, eventually, using his hips to hold her in place while he pulled off his shirt and smiled deliciously up at her before expertly sliding her panties off of her legs.

She couldn't catch her breath when he knelt down, her legs now over his shoulders, his mouth and tongue buried in that sweet spot. It took all she had to keep her screams in her throat as he licked and sucked. She had enough experience with demons to know what they all liked to hear – whether inflicting pain or, she assumed, pleasure. As much pleasure as she was experiencing in this new and weird adventure, she wasn't going to give Dean the satisfaction.

"Come on, sweetheart," Dean told her, pausing from his activity. "I know you're enjoying this. I can taste it. Let's hear how much."

"No," she told him defiantly.

Dean was back on his feet before Zeph could blink. He pulled her away from the wall and tossed her to the bed where she sat, naked and arms crossed.

"If this is your idea of torture," she smirked, "someone's really been mis-educating you."

He actually chuckled at that one, as he pushed his boots and sock, pants and boxers, down his legs and approached her. Zeph crawled back on the mattress a little bit; Dean hovered over her, placing a hand at her throat again.

"Tell me you don't want me to finish this," he growled into her ear.

"To be honest, I don't really care either way."

How in the hell was she revving him up like this? The honesty and confidence in her voice, even knowing what he could do to her, made him want her all the more. Dean pulled her legs up against his hips and rubbed himself in her wetness. The look on his face was all pleasure.

"Tell me you don't want this," he ordered her.

Zephaniah's eyes, wild with defiance, made contact with his. "I could live without it."

Dean couldn't. He pushed himself into her, groaning as she tightened around him. Despite what she said, her arms pulled him closer, scratched at his skin as he began to move inside her, and her legs wrapped around him once again. Once her body had adjusted to fit him, Dean flipped them around so that she was straddling his lap and grinding against him.

He helped her move with his hands on her hips, simultaneously pushing her down onto him and guiding her in a steady rhythm. The closer she got the edge, the more Dean could feel her pulse between her legs.

It didn't take long. After only a few minutes, Dean could see how much Zephaniah was really fighting the pleasure. He dipped his head down to once again take a breast into his mouth as they continued their steady movements.

"Oh, fuck."

Those two little words fell from her mouth, causing Dean to smile against her skin. She was close; the heat and the tightness he felt from the core of her told him that. He knew that he would likely follow her closely over the edge, but he wanted to hear the fullness of what had been rumbling in her throat since they began.

Try as she did to fight it, when ecstasy finally showed itself, Zephaniah could no longer contain the screams that stormed from her throat. She begged him not to stop as he turned them over again and sped up their rhythm. Her pleasure continued all the way through Dean's own pleasure, and she could still feel the pulsing when he slowly pulled out of her and rolled to her side.

She reached for the sheet, pulling it up under her arms and wondering what would come next. She couldn't deny to herself that she wanted more. It was still strange to her though; Dean had been sent to torture and kill her. Would that still happen?

He pulled the sheet up to his waist and rolled to look at her. He eyed her suspiciously, not able to decipher this strange creature who more or less laughed in the face of demons and death, who so thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure her current captor had given her. The only thing that he could figure, was that he didn't want anyone else to have her. The thought surprised him, and he pushed it away. Humanity was still nagging at him, but he would have none of that.

"What are you?" he asked her again, before she could drift off to sleep.

Zeph leaned up and kissed him, rough and wanting. "I'm sure you'll find out. Someday."

Dean knew that wasn't really an answer, but when she dipped down under the sheets and positioned her mouth between his hips, well, he wasn't exactly in a state to argue.

Dawn came earlier than Zephaniah expected. She was sore but rested. Dean was next to her, having drank himself into some type of slumber in the midst of all of their activities, which had gone on for hours. Escape immediately came to mind, and Zeph decided it was worth the risk.

She slipped slowly and quietly from under the sheet and reached for her clothes. They were disgustingly dirty, but that didn't bother her now. She pulled everything on without a sound and quickly found her shoes, pulling those on as well.

Before she left, Zephaniah took one last look at Dean. He looked almost human in that state of unconsciousness, and for a moment, she considered staying, just to see what would happen next.

"Don't be stupid," she whispered to herself as she made way for the hotel room door.

This time, she didn't look back.


	3. Possession

Crowley's was not the face Dean expected to see next to him when he came out of his alcohol-induced unconsciousness the next day.

"What the hell …"

"Good afternoon to you, too, Squirrel." Crowley was perched against the headboard where Zephaniah had fallen asleep. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and his hands were folded in his lap. "I know that you're probably still recovering from a night of debauchery, judging by the empty bottles, but perhaps you can answer me one simple question."

"What's that?" Dean asked as he located his clothes. His tone clearly conveyed that he didn't give a shit about Crowley's question.

" _Where the fuck is the girl?_ " Crowley demanded with a loud growl. "You had her, here! She should be dead by now! Instead, she's back out roaming the streets, no doubt on the lookout for who is going to come for her next."

Now fully-dressed, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "According to this girl, she's been on the lookout for who's coming next for most, if not all, of her life. She also mentioned something about me coming to kill her being a kamikaze mission. Care to explain that one?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. These mortals will tell you anything to get out of deal – to get out of dying. Don't tell me one little bird was able to sway you."

"She seemed pretty convincing to me." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and looked Crowley directly in the eye. Crowley stared right back, a suspicious smirk working its way through his features.

"Did you fuck this girl, Dean?" Crowley asked quietly. "Did you show her how gentle you could be, in an attempt to gain her trust? Let me guess – after that, you were going to kill her. Get some from the pretty, beaten girl, then kill her? Is that how you operate now?"

"It had nothing to do with that," Dean argued.

"Oh, so what then – it was about _feelings_?" Crowley laughed. "Here's my suggestion to you on that: get rid of them. They'll wane as you continue to live this life and the rest of your God-forsaken soul rots away, but let me tell you, from experience. Feelings get you nowhere in this line of business."

Dean didn't have anything to say to that. It wasn't about feelings, but the blank expression on his face was still only a cover. He could pretend to be disinterested all he wanted; deep down, he wanted to know what was so special about Zephaniah.

"Find her again," Crowley ordered. "This may be better, having you bring her to me. She'll be of more use to me this way."

Before Crowley could leave, Dean called him back. "If you want me to go after her again, you're going to have to tell me what it is about her that has both angels and demons knocking on her door every five minutes."

Crowley licked his lips and considered Dean's ultimatum carefully. Finally, he shrugged. "Fair enough. Zephaniah Jordan is somebody that everybody wants because she's the key that God left under the fake rock in the front yard."

"Come again?"

"I'll pass on the dirty joke, I suppose." Crowley took another step towards Dean, clasping his hands behind his back. "When God created Heaven and Hell, Purgatory and Earth, He left gates here and there to get from one realm to the next. Nothing you haven't heard before, I know. As you also know, then, getting through those gates can be tricky – it requires certain, hard-to-attain things in very particular combinations sometimes. Zephaniah Jordan doesn't need any of that."

" _She_ is a key," Dean surmised.

"Bingo. Her soul is the key to each realm. She doesn't even need a gate – she can just go there. If possessed, the being inside her would have the key, and, therefore, access to anywhere he wants to go. Oh, and did I mention, whatever _spirit_ , if you will, that possesses her, cannot be exorcised."

"And if you kill her?" Dean pressed on.

"If Zephaniah dies naturally, no worries. The key moves to another, new soul, destined to suffer for a lifetime. If she is killed however, well, that's a different story. It would be like dropping an A-bomb."

Dean thought all of this over carefully. He didn't have to be human or give a shit to know that if Zephaniah were in Crowley's control, chaos would take over everything, everywhere.

"If she can't be exorcised, why hasn't anyone already possessed her?" Dean asked.

Crowley smirked. "It's an old school rule, actually, but in Zephaniah's case, it absolutely must be adhered to: if she doesn't give permission, she cannot be possessed. By demon or angel, or any other thing that may seek to travel freely within our little universe."

Dean nodded. "All right. I'll find her. I'll bring her to you."

"Good man," Crowley smiled. He added, with a shrug, "So to speak."

A moment later, there was only one demon left in that hotel room.

Dating was difficult for Zephaniah, to say the least. Demons were easy to identify, angels were less so. Some holy water or uttering Christo, and she had that demon pegged. Angels required gut instinct and a careful observation of habits and mannerisms.

Xavier was in a survivors' group she visited occasionally. She had seen him before, his only interest in her seemed to have nothing much to do with her soul, and he didn't hiss when he drank the fruit punch spiked with holy water that she doled out for him when he approached her.

It was a couple weeks after Zeph and Dean had their hotel room encounter. She hadn't slept much; her nights were interrupted by a mix of new dreams about Dean's hands on her and the usual nightmares of other demons and angels torturing her. When Xavier didn't exhibit any behaviors that she would have deemed angelic (and not in the sense of being precious), she agreed to have dinner with him.

Despite constantly looking over her shoulder, Zephaniah knew how to go out and have a good time. She accepted the occasional date, had a couple of people that were somewhere between acquaintance and friend that she met up with on the weekends, and she could always have a good laugh at the diner where she worked. Keeping those good times in mind, she carefully selected a long maxi dress with cute sandals for her date with Xavier. She curled her hair and let it hand down her back. Only the scars on her arms were visible, but those could be explained away, especially considering the circumstances in which they met, and Zephaniah didn't plan on letting anyone else lay hand on her the way Dean had done for quite some time.

Xavier was a gentleman, and Zeph liked that. Hell, she _needed_ that. He came to her door to pick her up, told her how pretty she looked, and opened the car door for her. At the restaurant, he continued to open doors for her, pulled her chair out at the table on the patio, and told her to order whatever she wanted.

"Thanks," Zephaniah smiled. "This is a nice place. I like it."

"Me too," Xavier agreed. "I come here when I need to work outside of the office."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a journalist, actually. I used to work for a national magazine, until I was on assignment overseas and got kidnapped."

Zeph felt horrible. "You mentioned that at group, didn't you? I'm sorry, Xavier. Some of that stuff, I think my brain tries to block out."

"It's all right," he assured her kindly. "What about you, Zephaniah? What's your story? I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I've seen you at group more than a few times, but you never say anything."

She was grateful for the waiter who came and took their order just then. When he was gone she sipped her water, took a deep breath, and decided to dive in.

"I don't talk about what's happened to me at group, because it's still happening. I guess I'm one of those people who seems to be attacked every time she turns around. I don't want to sound like a victim – I've made it through every time. The kind of things I've survived though, well, I'm not sure anyone would believe."

"Maybe someday you could tell me about it. I'll believe you."

Zeph smiled. It was nice to hear, even if she didn't believe what he said. How could anyone possibly believe that her fight didn't really have much to do with Earth, but everything to do with Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory? A lot of people she had come across didn't even believe any of those places existed.

"Maybe, someday," she finally answered. "Tell me more about your work. Being a journalist, in any capacity, must have it exciting moments."

"Besides being kidnapped by infidels?" Xavier returned.

Her face fell. "I guess I should apologize again. I didn't think –"

"It's all right," Xavier assured, holding up a hand to interrupt her. "It was a long time ago. The nightmares still come and go though. Keeping up with group helps. The PTSD, it's always going to be there, but when I have my better days, I feel like I can help others."

He seemed like such a kind man to Zephaniah. As he went on to talk more about his own survival story, then transitioned into stories about his job, she decided that agreeing to go to dinner with Xavier was a very good idea.

The breeze was warm, the fireflies were out if you looked carefully enough, and summer was just beginning to be steadily warm. Dean used to love these kinds of nights. He would find a field to park in, lay out on the hood of the Impala, listen to classic rock, and contemplate his life, or be thankful that he and Sammy had made it through another hunt. Sometimes, he wouldn't think anything at all, just lay there and enjoy being alive for a few, short-lived minutes.

Tonight was a different story. This Dean hardly noticed the warm breeze and completely missed the fireflies as he stood across the street, looking casual but actually stalking his target.

He had decided that it was too dangerous to let Crowley have Zephaniah. After their night together, Dean was certain that she would never agree to being possessed, and Crowley would grow so angry, he would kill her. Who knew what kind of repercussions that would really bring about. Or, Zephaniah would be convinced to being possessed, and Crowley would have the run of the place. Even as a demon who couldn't give a fuck less what was going on around him, Dean knew that was too much of a risk to allow it.

So, he'd take matters into his own hands. He would take Zephaniah, hide her away somewhere, and wait for her to die. She had sixty or seventy years left in life, barring disease, but what did it matter to him? He was a demon. He had eternity to wait for her to croak.

But there was something about seeing her out with another man that Dean didn't like. He and Zephaniah had obviously been a thing borne of lust, but something in him had pegged the girl as belonging to him.

 _We're a possessive type, us demons,_ Crowley had told him once. _Possession isn't always about dwelling in some pathetic meat-sack, either. We want what we want, and we don't want anyone else to have it._

Those words rang through Dean's mind as he watched Zephaniah get into Xavier's car and head back for her apartment. He followed them there, watching every move that Xavier made much closer than he was comfortable with acknowledging.

At the door of her apartment, Zephaniah knew that she didn't want things to go any further with Xavier, and she didn't want to see him again.

Not only had he continued to inquire about her own traumatic experiences, he had even let slip that he possibly wanted to write a story about her for a survivors' series he was working on – his way of getting back into the national magazine circuit. Zeph was thoroughly disgusted with him, but she held back and waited for the date to be over.

"Listen, Xavier, I had a great night. Thanks for taking me out."

"You're welcome," Xavier replied, not taking her tone into consideration. He leaned in to kiss her, but Zephaniah stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Come on. I thought you said you had a great night?"

"I exaggerated," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Come on. You don't have to give me the story, but you can at least give me a little something else …"

He leaned into her again, pressing her against the door. Zephaniah hadn't had the chance to unlock it yet; she didn't want to chance letting Xavier into her apartment. His rough kiss found its way to her lips, and all those years of fighting demons and angels suddenly seemed like child's play. This mortal man was not to be fought off.

"Hey!"

Xavier looked towards the gruff voice down the hall; he didn't see anyone. "Who's there?"

Zephaniah knew that voice. It had haunted her dreams for days now. "Xavier, you should go. Trust me."

"There's no one there." Xavier laughed cynically and went back to his assault.

"She told you to leave her alone."

This time when Xavier looked up, Dean was right next to them, his eyes as black as coal.

"What in the …"

"Hell?" Dean finished with a smirk. He grabbed onto Xavier's lapel and in one swift moment, laid the man out on the ground.

The strikes Dean delivered grew quickly in number. Zephaniah stayed frozen against the door of her apartment. She didn't want to scream and cause a scene, but she knew she couldn't let this continue either. Finally, making a risky decision, she stepped forward and gripped Dean's arm as it cocked back to hit Xavier again.

"Stop! Please, stop!" she cried.

The world moved in slow motion as Dean let go of Xavier where he lay bloody and almost unrecognizable, and turned to Zephaniah.

She stood there, holding her breath, waiting for what would happen next. Her eyes held those black ones; black eyes that slowly but surely returned to their human appearance.


	4. Hero

The ambulance pulled away, lights and sirens doing their job to clear traffic as the medics rushed Xavier to the hospital.

Zephaniah stood on the sidewalk, watching them drive away. She had cleared herself and Dean from what had happened by telling the police that Xavier had attacked her; Dean was a friend who showed up, panicked, and just kept swinging until he was sure Zephaniah was safe. Fortunately, the video from the scene in the hallway more or less corroborated that story.

When she turned back around, Dean was gone.

Groaning in frustration, she headed back for her apartment, careful to lock the door behind her. She changed into sweatpants and a tank top, stitched her hair into a lazy braid, and went to the kitchen for a beer.

"I know what you are."

She spooked, causing the beer bottle to drop from her hand and shatter on the tile floor. She cursed out loud and glared at Dean where he sat at the small dining table.

"Really? You couldn't have just walked into the apartment with me, like a fucking normal person?" Zephaniah grumbled.

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? I'm not exactly a normal person."

"Funny. Beer?" She made a point to look him straight in the eye. "Once I clean this up, of course."

"I wouldn't turn down a cold beer."

Dean didn't seem bothered that she did take the time to clean up the mess from the shattered beer bottle before selecting another one for herself and one for him. She leaned back on the counter as she gulped the amber liquid down. Dean had started a conversation; she would let him finish it.

"I talked to Crowley. He wanted me to find you and bring you to him. So there's no warrant out for your life anymore," Dean informed her.

"Right. Just for my soul." Zephaniah rolled her eyes. Dean raised a brow. "If you know what I am now, then you know what this Crowley guy really wants."

"You've never met Crowley?"

"Never had the privilege."

Dean finished off his beer and nodded. "Well, let me tell you, him getting your soul isn't just a matter of being possessed, Zephaniah. He'd wreak havoc on the entire universe as we know it. With access to all of the realms, Crowley would be unstoppable."

"I have no intention of allowing anyone to possess me," Zephaniah told him sternly, bracing herself for an attack. "Be it Crowley or anybody else."

Dean smirked. "That's not what I'm here for. I'm pretty happy being me, sweetheart. I'm here to keep you out of Crowley's grasp."

Zephaniah raised her brow. "Oh, really? You're going to keep me out of Crowley's grasp. What after that? You can't just keep all the monsters away, Dean. Let me remind you, you _are_ one of the monsters!"

"And I still have a good idea of what to do to keep the balance around here!" Dean growled, suddenly in her face, his eyes once again black. "Crowley or anyone else being in control, well, that would break-down the little eco system we all have going here, wouldn't it? Like I said, I'm pretty happy being me, and I am no fan of allowing that to change."

Zephaniah scoffed and lifted her beer to her lips. "Isn't that amazing? Just enough humanity left for Dean Winchester to still want to be a hero."

The sarcastic smirk on her face changed to an angry sneer by the time she finished her sentence. She drank what was left of the beer and roughly tossed the bottle in the sink; another mess of glass shards to clean up, this time later on. Zephaniah pushed past Dean and over to the cupboard where she pulled down a nearly full bottle of whiskey.

Dean considered her carefully. He was one-hundred-percent positive that he had never used his last name with her, and even if he had, she shouldn't know anything from his past life. He stepped forward slowly, approaching her as though she would spook, even though Dean knew well and good Zephaniah would stand toe-to-toe with him, even on her weakest day.

"What did you just say to me?"

Zephaniah swallowed and crossed her arms over her chest. "You heard me."

Dean tilted his head; he wouldn't even try to deny it at this point. "How do you know anything about me? Who have you been talking to, Zephaniah? It isn't a good idea to go digging around for information on me."

"I didn't have to." She dropped to the recliner and shrugged.

Dean listened as she talked, painting a picture of something that had happened before John died, while Sam was at Stanford. The father-and-son hunting team had drove through the night to get to a small Mid-West town where girls suspected of having some kind of exceptionality were being taken.

 _Zephaniah remembered the cold, moldy smell of the room she was locked in for those days. The abandoned warehouse was on the outskirts of town, with a parking overgrown with dead grass, and a condemned structure. She was certain that if the demon who had taken her, Ornias, didn't kill her, the creaky supports in the ceiling would do the job for him._

 _Except that Ornias didn't want to kill any of the girls. Lucifer was in an apathetic period, not willing to step down from running Hell for the time being, but not willing to do much with his power, either. So, Ornias possessed a handsome young man, learned how to charm young women, and set about finding those that would be strong enough for his army. Ornias was ready to take over the world, and with a group of women who no one would suspect of any kind of hostile activity, he felt empowered to do just that._

 _After six days locked away in the warehouse and the most brutal torture she had endured up to that point, Zephaniah was roused from her semi-unconscious state by the sound of yelling from two voices she hadn't heard before. They demanded that Ornias show himself, that he release the girls if he wanted to stay out of harm's way. The voices faded away into silence, which only a few minutes later gave way to the sounds of fighting. Eventually, Zephaniah heard words she recognized; Latin words. An exorcism._

 _She heard the locks clicking and doors opening, one room after another until they came to the room where Zephaniah – the last of seventeen girls to be captured from over the country – had been kept for those days. A handsome, young man, although probably a good eight or ten years older than her, came in and immediately gave her water to drink._

" _Not a demon," she mumbled out._

" _I know," he smirked at her. "You just drank holy water. Would have been a world of hurtin' for you if you were a demon."_

 _That man and the other, his father, waited with her until sirens sounded in the distance after John's anonymous 911 call. They introduced themselves and explained a little about what they did._

" _You know, it's funny," John told her while his son – Dean, the younger man – packed up their car so they could make a getaway. "All of the other girls, we know why Ornias took them. Psychics and witches and Nephilim, just to name a few in there. But you, Zephaniah. I couldn't find anything on you."_

 _She pulled her arms a little tighter around her and shrugged. "I have a good ear on other worlds. If I ever hear that what I am may be of some assistance to you and your son, I'll let you know."_

"Of course, I never did," Zephaniah finished up. "I stopped listening to everything going on because it got me in more trouble than I asked for, always. When they say what you don't know can't kill you? It's more true than you think."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Dean asked. "It shouldn't stop you from letting me keep you away from angels and demons. I'm not talking about some luxury sweet in Paris, Zephaniah. I'm talking about locking you away until you die of natural causes. Not exactly a pleasant experience."

"I'd almost take you up on that offer, if it came without torture. The thing is, Dean, you were already my hero once. Who am I to be saved twice?"

Dean just stared her down. What was he supposed to say to that? Maybe in another life – his human life – he could have come up with some kind of reply, but not today. This was too rare of a moment for a demon, however new to the business, to comprehend.

Zephaniah shook her head and walked to stand in front of him. Dean tensed, waiting for whatever would come next from this strange being. He expected just about anything except for her to go up on tiptoe and drag her lips across his. Zephaniah maintained eye contact with him, even as she kissed him, until Dean finally wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed into her kiss.

"Oh good," Zephaniah smiled. "I thought I was going to have to piss you off to get things going."

Somehow, that phrasing turned him on even more and elicited a growl from low in his throat. Zephaniah wasted no time in ridding him of his shirt in return and pulling him toward her bedroom.

They only made it to the hallway.

Dean had Zephaniah on the floor before she even knew they were no longer standing. He pulled her shirt over her head and her pants off of her legs and breathed in sharply at the sight of her, semi-nude and breathing hard. He held himself up on his elbows while Zephaniah worked her mouth over his neck and his collar bone. Her hands worked off his belt and undid the button-fly on his jeans.

Her hands seemed to grasp exactly where he needed them to when she reached inside his boxers and found what she was looking for. This feeling of having Zephaniah's hands on him was better than the first time, and it quickly brought him to the edge as she worked him over with her hands.

"Zeph …" Dean wanted to warn her that he was getting too close, that she needed to stop and let him give her some attention, but she didn't catch on in time.

Dean rode the ecstasy out like a wave in the middle of the ocean. It wrapped around him and coursed through his veins; not once did Zephaniah stop her motion until he was completely done. When Dean finally opened his eyes to look down at her, Zephaniah was smiling up at him.

"Don't look so fucking pleased with yourself."

"Oh, but I am," she countered.

He _hated_ to be challenged. With another low growl, Dean ripped her panties off her legs and buried his face in her most sensitive areas. Zephaniah again held back the cries of ecstasy; she knew how to get what she wanted.

Dean licked and sucked, begging her with his tongue to scream for him. He wanted to hear it, to know that he was doing something right. He wanted to know how good he was making Zephaniah feel.

She refused. She clamped her hand over her mouth and when that wasn't enough, she reached for her shirt, crumpled it up, and pressed the bundle against her mouth. Dean pulled the garment from her grasp.

"Don't fight it," he told her. "Scream for me, Zeph."

Zephaniah shook her head. "I won't do it."

"The hell you won't."

Dean's tongue found a depth inside her that no one had reached before. Zephaniah twisted and squirmed, but her screams were stifled until Dean found _the spot_ , and Zephaniah could no longer keep her pleasure to herself. She surfed out the same wave Dean had been riding not too long before, gliding her fingers through his hair and gripping, right up through the moment he had licked her clean.

Zephaniah pulled him up to her mouth, kissing him hard and tasting herself on his tongue. "Take me to the bedroom, Dean."

"This isn't over?"

"Not by a long shot."

Letting his brother go without a fight had never been an option for Sam Winchester. From the moment he found the note on Dean's bed, Sam knew he had no intentions of following Dean's request to let him go.

He pored through newspaper articles, arrest records, even obituaries. If there was the slimmest chance that any piece of information would lead him to his brother, Sam was on top of it.

Sam's lead finally came in the form of a news report. Trouble at a local gas station resulted in the broadcasting of a surveillance video; Sam looked up and there was Dean.

He made short time getting to the town where the video had been broadcast from. He showed Dean's picture around, but no one seemed to know anything or remember seeing Dean around town. Looking down the main street, Sam found himself suddenly hungry for a greasy burger.

"Must really be missing Dean," he snorted to himself, heading for the diner. "Greasy burger. Right."

Once inside the diner, Sam took a look at the menu. He opted for a salad instead of a burger, and ordered a black coffee along with a glass of water.

"We'll have that right out," the waitress sighed.

Her less-than-enthusiastic demeanor pulled Sam's attention up to his waitress. Her eyes were sad, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and a bruise healing over her cheekbone. Sam tilted his head and pulled Dean's picture from his pocket.

"Uh, Zeph?"

She turned on her heel and returned back to the table. She leaned on the table and looked him straight in the eye. Her eyes searched his for a moment before she stood back up.

"What else can I get for you?"

"My name's Sam. I'm looking for my brother. I've asked all around town, but I can't seem to find him anywhere. I was pretty sure I saw him on the news the other day …"

"I don't watch the news," Zephaniah told him. "My life's full of enough weird shit as it is."

Sam nodded. "Sure, no point in making it worse. It's just that – well, I thought that maybe you could help me out. Take a look at this picture at least and tell me if you've seen him?"

Zephaniah took a deep breath. "Look, Sam, you seem nice enough, and I'm really sorry that you're having to go around trying to find your brother, whatever happened to him. Ask anyone around here though. The only people I interact with much if at all are the ones who work here. Don't have a lot of trust for anyone else. So, not to break your heart, but I doubt I've seen your brother anywhere."

Sam placed the photo on the table. "Just a quick look. Please."

Zephaniah looked at the picture on the table, mouth opened to tell Sam she'd told him so. She could have lied, but the surprise on her face had already given her away. She swallowed hard as she recovered her countenance and once again leaned down to speak to him.

"Let it go, Sam. Your brother's long gone by now."


	5. Searching

Zephaniah waited patiently for her manager to lock up the diner for the night before bidding him goodbye and making way for her apartment. She'd had to work a double that day, but the extra money was nice – and so was the distraction from her thoughts.

She felt she had gotten pretty good at pushing Dean Winchester out of her mind, for the most part, until his brother showed up earlier in the day, asking if she had seen Dean.

 _Let it go, Sam. Your brother's long gone by now._

The words played over and over in her head, with emphasis on one word: gone. The morning after she had last seen Dean, she had bounded out of bed, convinced immediately that he was just elsewhere in the apartment. When it became clear that he was gone, Zephaniah's life had become a strange confusion.

Dean was a demon. There was no getting around that. He was the kind that made her fear for her life on a daily basis; the kind that tortured her and urged her to give up her soul. Dean had come into her life to kill her – no, that wasn't true. When he had first come into her life, it was to save her. Both of their lives had continued down dark paths, it seemed, over those years. How quickly he had gone from wanting to kill her to wanting to save her – in his own demonic way.

And how quickly she had begun to miss him. Even after their two brief encounters, Zephaniah wanted more of Dean in her life, and not just in a bed.

Taking a deep breath and deciding she would drink off the lonely when she got home, Zephaniah walked a little faster to her apartment. She fumbled with the lock in the dim hallway before making her way inside, locking the door behind her, and kicking her shoes off as she flipped on the lamp next to the door.

The room had no more lit up than Sam Winchester had pushed her against the locked door, a hand over her mouth.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about my brother," Sam growled. "You're going to tell me _everything_ , or you and I are going to have a very rough go of it, you understand?"

Zephaniah nodded. When Sam lifted the pressure on her mouth and made to step backwards, Zephaniah placed two hands on his chest and pushed him back. Sam merely lost his balance for a moment, but by the time he realized what was happening, Zephaniah had landed a painful punch to his ribs, causing him to double over. She kicked him to the ground then, and straddled over his abdomen, punching wherever she could while Sam tried to shield his face with his forearms.

When Zephaniah paused to assess the damage she was causing, Sam took her by the arms and rolled them over so that he was now on top of her, his hands holding down her wrists.

"Just talk to me and I'll go!" he yelled.

"Yeah, right," Zephaniah huffed before raising a knee to connect with the more sensitive area between Sam's legs. He rolled to the side with a groan.

"I'm serious," he coughed out. "Truce. White flag and all that, all right? I just need to know that my brother's okay. Please."

Zephaniah considered him for a moment before lifting his arm over her shoulders and helping him as best she could onto the couch. "Sorry about the junk shot. Want a water or something?"

"Beer, if you've got it," Sam replied.

Zephaniah nodded and went for two beers from the fridge. She popped both of them open on her way to the front room, handing one to Sam as she plopped next to him on the couch, her breathing working on returning to normal.

"That was a fun little wrestling match," Sam chuckled. "I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well –" She had started to say something about not living the life she lived without learning some self-defense, but she stopped. Maybe Sam didn't need to know that much about her. "Not so bad yourself."

They sipped their beers in silence for a couple of minutes before Sam asked, much less hostile this time, "What can you tell me about my brother?"

Zephaniah took a swig of her beer and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Two demons were torturing me in a shitty hotel room when Dean showed up. He was there to kill me."

She told Sam about how Dean told her Crowley wanted her dead; about how she had challenged Dean and that somehow resulted in them sleeping together. She told Sam about Xavier, about Dean coming to her rescue, and about how she had revealed that Dean had saved her once before.

"He was the one who left that time," Zephaniah summed up. "I don't know when he left, I just know that when I woke up, he was gone. An I'm not exactly a heavy sleeper."

"But he said Crowley wanted you alive now?"

Zephaniah nodded. "Dean said that couldn't be, and that he wanted to hide me away until I died so Crowley couldn't get his hands on me."

Sam leaned back against the couch cushions. "What's so special about you, Zephaniah, that both demons and angels would come after you, again and again, for your whole life?"

With a hard swallow, Zephaniah decided to lie. "I don't know."

Sam finished off his beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table. "I want to find my brother. I can cure him."

"Cure him?" Zephaniah repeated.

"Purified blood, injected into a demon over a set time frame, will cure them."

Zephaniah's heart jumped; she mentally cursed herself. Dean wouldn't stand to be cured any more than she would allow herself to be possessed. But if he _could_ be cured …

 _Stop, Zeph. Don't even let yourself go there._

 _But there was no stopping her. Somewhere between the abandoned warehouse all those years ago, the hotel room where she had first met Dean as a demon, and her apartment the night he saved her from Xavier, she wanted to save Dean._

 _"How are you with interrogating demons?" Zephaniah said quietly._

 _Sam's brow perked. "Interrogating demons? Did I hear that correctly?"_

 _She nodded. "Yes. You heard me correctly."_

 _"I'm fairly experienced in that area."_

 _"Well, I'm usually on the receiving end of the torture when it comes to demons, but I'm ready to turn the tables, if you want some help finding your brother."_

 _Sam opened his mouth to protest, then thought about how this woman had taken him on when he'd accosted her at the door. He noted the scars visible on her arms and nodded._

 _"All right. Let's see what we can find out."_

 _Two months to the day after she first met up with the demon Dean Winchester, Zephaniah found herself in a very similar hotel room, listening to Sam Winchester exorcise another demon. When it was all said and done, and the black smoke dissipated, there was yet another human soul, broken and dying._

 _"Help me," Sam ordered her._

 _Zephaniah took one arm of the man and helped Sam lay him on the floor. The man sputtered, choked on his own blood, and died. She stood, brushing the dust off of her hands._

 _"How is it possible that there are so many, and not one of them knows where he is?" Sam wondered aloud. He shook his head. "I can't keep doing this. There has to be another way."_

 _"There's always one way," Zephaniah offered. "I'm up for playing bait. I'm used to it."_

 _Sam shook his head. "We don't know if that would bring him."_

 _"But," Zephaniah countered, "we may still be able to get the information we want. This is a win-win, Sam. Either we get Dean, or we get the information we need on Dean."_

 _Sam squinted at her; from the very beginning he'd been aware that there was something Zephaniah was hiding from him. She had gone weeks without looking for Dean herself, but once Sam showed up, she was all for it. That in itself gave Sam cause for concern. Knowing that she was lying on top of that – he'd been careful about how much he trusted Zephaniah Jordan._

 _"Fine," Sam gave in. "We'll do it your way."_

 _If nothing else, Sam figured, maybe he'd get a little truth out of her._

 _The ground was wet and muddy; easy to dig into to lay down the little box that would call out the crossroads demon. Zephaniah pushed a handful of mud back over the box and stepped back, waiting._

 _She knew Sam didn't trust her entirely. She was lying to him, after all, so why would he have any reason to have any sort of faith in her? Except she'd been the last person to see his brother, so he had to go with what he had. Zephaniah was counting on that to keep him in the game long enough for them to find Dean._

 _"We've been waiting a long time for you," a sultry voice said from behind her._

 _Zephaniah whipped around to see a tall, model-esque woman walking towards her. The black dress, the high heels that were humanly impossible to walk in. When the demon let her eyes glow red momentarily, Zephaniah smirked._

 _"Much longer than we've been waiting for you."_

 _"We?" the demon questioned. She took a step closer to Zephaniah, but found she couldn't quite reach the human. "What the hell?"_

 _The demon's growl did nothing for Zephaniah. She was stuck in a devil's trap that encompassed the entire intersection. Zephaniah laughed as Sam stepped out from the car._

 _"Yes,_ _we_ _." Zephaniah tossed some holy water from a flash in the demon's face, evoking a primal scream from the demon's throat. "Where is Dean Winchester?"_

 _"I make deals," the demon woman. "You want something, you have to give me something."_

 _"How about your life for the information we want?" Sam said, walking up behind the demon and holding an angel blade to her throat._

 _"Where'd you get that?" Zephaniah frowned. "Is that what I think it is?"_

 _"Not the time," Sam reminded her. He tightened his grip on the demon. "Tell us where my brother is, or you're dead."_

 _"Not a chance."_

 _Sam took the angel blade, placed the point of it over the demon's heart, and made a long, deep incision in her skin. She cried out in pain, begging him to stop._

 _"Dean Winchester is in hell!" the demon screamed. "He's in hell!"_

 _Sam and Zephaniah exchanged looks. Zephaniah took another step closer to the demon and said quietly but sternly, "Keep talking."_

 _The demon said nothing; Sam made another incision across the demon's abdomen. After another scream of pain, she promised to tell all._

 _"Crowley sent Dean after you," the demon said, looking right at Zephaniah. "When he came back without you for a second time, Crowley realized that Dean's plan was to keep you away from Crowley at all costs. Nobody goes against the King."_

 _Zephaniah held the demon's gaze. "Where is Dean, exactly?"_

 _"Crowley is holding him in hell. He's chained up and being beaten and tortured daily – he's being punished as a traitor until the day Crowley is ready for him to die."_

 _"Think she's telling the truth?" Sam asked._

 _Zephaniah nodded. "She's telling the truth."_

 _Sam raised the angel blade, prepared to end the demon for good. Zephaniah held up a hand and told him to stop._

 _"Zeph …"_

 _"Like I said," Zephaniah told him, "I'm ready to turn the tables."_

 _Taking the demon knife Sam had given her for protection from the waistband of her jeans, Zephaniah got a good grip on it and stepped into the devil's trap._

 _Sam rolled out a map on the table in the hotel room they'd procured. He circled several cities on the map and motioned Zephaniah over. She tossed the newly-cleaned demon knife on her bed and went to look at the large map._

 _"What's this?"_

 _"Hell's Gates," Sam announced. "We just have to find the one that's easiest to get through."_

 _"You know how impossible that is," Zephaniah scoffed, rolling her eyes and going back to the bed. "And even if we can get in, it isn't going to happen without us letting a lot of dickheads out."_

 _"A reaper then," Sam continued. "We'll find a reaper to get us in. That'll give us time to get in, get Dean and get back out before –"_

 _"Before what, Sam? Before Crowley finds out that we've crossed over enemy lines?"_

 _Sam growled, pounding his fist on the table. "What the hell is with you? You hadn't seen my brother in weeks, but you didn't look for him. Don't tell me he didn't mean anything to you, because I know the look in your eyes when you talk about him. The moment you told me you to let Dean go, that he was long gone, I knew the sadness in your eyes and in your voice. I know because I've been there – because I_ _am_ _there. All right? Now you think I'm not going to notice when you all of sudden want to help Dean, then you're so ready to give it up, just when we find out where he's at? I'm not buying it! So tell me what the fuck you're trying to hide, Zephaniah!"_

 _Zephaniah stood and spoke quietly. "There is no reaper that will take us to hell, Sam. They know who I am, and they know who you are. The kind of bargaining that would take –"_

 _Sam picked up a nearby glass and threw it against the wall; smashing it into lots of pieces. "I told you in the beginning, if you're going to hold me back from finding my brother, things between us are_ _not_ _going to be easy. Is this the part where it gets difficult, or are you going to help me out here?"_

 _Zephaniah swallowed. Anger burned in her veins at Sam forcing the information out of her, but she didn't see another way out._

 _"All right. I'll tell you everything. Then I'll go get Dean."_

 _"No," Sam argued. "_ _We_ _will go get Dean."_

 _Zephaniah shook her head. "It doesn't work that way, Sam. Have a seat. Once I tell you what I've been keeping from you, you'll understand why it has to be just me."_


	6. Exchange

Sam looked at Zephaniah in disbelief. All this time, he'd been worried about what she was hiding. Turned out, it wasn't anything that could hurt him – but it could help Dean.

"That's why I can't take you with me," Zephaniah summed up quietly. "My soul creates the gate, but won't let me pull anyone through with me."

"Have you ever tried?" Sam inquired.

"Once. There were these demons after me … I didn't know what else to do. I knew I couldn't outrun them, and once the faster one got caught in a devil's trap I had planted, the slower one managed to miss it. Not sure what else to do, I figured I would just drag him into Heaven with me and pray the angels would take care of it." She ran a hand through her hair, shuddering at the memory. "The vessel was destroyed as soon as we passed through, and the demon was torn to pieces by the angels at the gates of Heaven."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. "All right. Just you then. You're going to have to let me teach you a few more things before you go down there alone."

"Teach me?" Zephaniah countered. "I've been doing this my whole life, Sam. Have you not seen enough of what I can do over the last couple of weeks?"

"It isn't the same, Zeph," Sam told her. "Fighting them up here, protecting yourself in a familiar space – it's different than being on their turf."

Zephaniah ceded that _maybe_ he was right. After a long drive to the bunker, Sam offered to make them a healthy, filling meal.

"Then, we can get a good night's sleep and start training in the morning."

"Mind if I shower?" Zephaniah asked.

"Sure. Let's get you a room, actually, and I'll show you were the bathroom is. You're welcome to look around."

She smiled a little bit to herself; despite how much she tried to hide it, Sam questioned her about the suddenly happy look on her face. Zephaniah shrugged and tried to hide her embarrassment. "This is the nicest place I remember staying in. Even if it's just for a while … It'll be nice."

Sam smiled at her. "Come on, Zeph. I'll show you around."

After the quick tour, Sam made them a quick, healthy meal. Zephaniah thanked him and headed for the room Sam had deemed as hers.

On her way there, she passed the room Sam had informed her was Dean's room. Too enticed to even look around before entering, she pushed the door open and took a step inside.

Her fingers found the blanket on the neatly made bed and moved across to his pillow. She wanted to pick it up and hold it to her face, to see if it smelled like Dean. Worried that it wouldn't smell like the Dean she knew more recently, Zephaniah passed over the pillow and reached for the small stack of pictures on his nightstand.

A picture of a man she recognized as John with a pretty, laughing blonde woman. The brothers with another man she didn't recognize, in a trucker hat and not smiling. Two pictures of the brothers, just the two of them laughing and looking as though none of the monsters they hunted existed.

"Zephaniah?"

She spun around, holding the pictures behind her back. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was on my way to shower and I passed by here and I just …"

Sam stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "How much exactly has gone on between you and my brother?"

"It's not that," Zephaniah said, shaking her head. She held the pictures out momentarily before dropping them back on the nightstand. "I let my curiosity get the best of me, is all. The Dean that you know, and the Dean that I know, they're two different people. I guess I wanted to see the Dean that you know – the one you're trying to save."

Sam let his arms dropped and shoved his hands in his pockets. "The Dean that you know, Zeph, he's still Dean. He's still my brother. Somewhere under all that darkness, he's still my brother. Still the Dean I know. Hey, he tried to save you, after all."

"In a way, I guess," Zephaniah nodded. "I'll get out of here and get to bed."

Sam stepped out of the way to let her out of the room. He looked around at the room and smiled a little bit to himself. In the midst of all the darkness, having someone around who also genuinely cared about Dean was a small ray of light.

It took a few days to relay to Zephaniah all the information Sam wanted her to have. They trained and reviewed from morning through evening. By the time their days ended, Zephaniah was too tired to mull over her upcoming venture. At the end of the third day, however, it was time to face facts.

"You're sure we don't need to be close to a gate?" Sam asked for the millionth time.

Zephaniah rolled her eyes. "Sam. _I am the gate_. I don't know how else I can make it any clearer than by showing you. You just be where I leave you – I always come back to the same spot where I left."

"How many times have you done this before?"

"More than I can count. Mostly it's coming back to earth. Besides throwing that demon into Heaven, I've never been upstairs. Been through Purgatory twice, with a reaper who thought she would earn a better reputation by dragging me through the lower realms, for some reason. And Hell – Hell I've never voluntarily walked into."

"This is the first time?"

Zephaniah nodded. "First time."

"If you don't want to do this –"

"I want to," Zephaniah interrupted him.

Sam nodded. "All right then. We'll head out first thing."

Zephaniah gave Sam's hand a friendly squeeze and thanked him for what he'd shown her before she turned and started to walk down the road. She took a deep breath and, a few hundred feet away from where she left Sam with the Impala, she walked into Hell.

Sam couldn't believe it, even when he saw it. There was a small flash; no more than there would have been from a brief bolt of lightning, then Zephaniah was gone.

"She literally just walked into Hell."

Sam scoffed in disbelief. It would seem longer for her down there than it would for him waiting on Earth, but he knew every moment that passed would have him nearly writhing with impatience.

She knew the way to where the king would be. She'd been dragged down here several times before, but it had been years. She could tell that Crowley had changed a lot when he took over hell, but she still felt oriented enough to get where she needed to go.

Zephaniah wasn't but several minutes in when they came after her. She knew they would sense her presence, and, honestly, she was there longer than she thought she would be before they came.

There were just too many of them. Even with the demon blade that Sam had given her for extra protection, she wasn't prepared to take on eight demons at one time.

Her head was ringing from blows to her face and head. Blood was matted in her hair and dripping from her nose and lip, and various bruises were forming over her body. The bald demon who had held her in the hotel room where she had first crossed paths with Dean those couple of months ago dragged her into the throne room and threw her in front of Crowley. He handed the King of Hell the demon blade and stood behind Zephaniah.

"Ms. Jordan," Crowley greeted, straightening up in his throne. "We meet again. If I'd had it my way, it would have been a more recent visit, but, alas, one cannot always have what he wants, now can he?"

Zephaniah swallowed, and the coppery taste of blood spread over her tongue. "Yeah, life's a real bitch."

Crowley actually chuckled. "That it is. I'll tell you though, Zephaniah, what piques my interest most right now is that you've come down here on your own. I know we've escorted you in several times –"

Zephaniah snorted at his phrasing.

"Good to see your sense of humor is still intact," Crowley grinned. "Tell me. What's brought you down here all on your own?"

She paused for a moment before speaking. "I'm here to make a deal."

Crowley's eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline. "A deal? Well, now there's a word I'm certainly familiar with. And a deal with you, no less. This day just gets better and better." He got up from his throne and stood in front of her. "Tell me, dear girl. What are your terms?"

Struggling only a little bit, she got to her feet. "You let Dean Winchester go – deliver him to his brother, along with that knife, and I'll give you my life."

She prayed that Crowley wouldn't be able to hear or see the desperation that Zephaniah felt. Had she been able to come down and get Dean on her own, she may not have resorted to making a deal with Crowley.

"I suppose I could question why you want to give yourself up for the evil squirrel, but this is one deal I'm not going to question. I really think I'm getting the better end of the deal." He looked to the bald demon. "Take Dean and the knife to Sam. I'll gladly give up those two measly things for her, don't you think?"

The bald demon only grinned as he took the demon blade from Crowley and headed to retrieve Dean from the cell where he was being held.

"There's my end of the deal," Crowley said, taking a few steps closer to Zephaniah. He grabbed her face roughly with his hands and, as he always did to seal a deal, crushed his lips against hers. When he parted from her, Zephaniah spit on the floor. "Oh, that's not very nice. You had to know that was coming. Now – for your end of the bargain, my dear girl."

Crowley's eyes turned red before black smoke started pouring from his mouth. It swam in the air towards Zephaniah, but stopped short of her mouth and reversed its direction. Crowley's eyes returned to their human appearance and he frowned.

"We had a deal, Zephaniah. Let me in."

She showed him a bloody smile. "I gave you my life, Crowley. Not my soul. As a man of many contracts, I really thought you'd pay attention to the wording there."

Her life. Crowley growled in frustration, backhanding Zephaniah with such force that she again fell to the ground. "Get her out of my sight!"

A couple of his minions dragged her to the same cell Dean had previously occupied. The bald demon returned, frowning that Crowley was still sitting on the throne in Fergus's body and not Zephaniah's. When Crowley tried to explain it, the bald demon still looked confused.

"You idiot!" Crowley roared. "She gave me her life, which means that I can keep her here and torture her for the rest of eternity, but without permission to take her soul, she cannot be possessed. She basically traded herself for Dean and that damn blade – does that make sense now, or do I need to spell it out for you?"

As Crowley continued to roar, the bald demon made a smart decision to step back into the crowd.

Sam was just getting used to the suspense when another flash came from the same place where Zephaniah had disappeared down the road.

"Dean," he muttered under his breath before walking briskly to meet the demon halfway.

"Crowley has commanded that be left with you, along with this blade."

Sam accepted the demon blade, and the bald demon was gone again. He took a hold of Dean, ushering him back to the Impala. While he hated to see Dean in such a state of cuts and bruises, the demon's weak state made it easier to get him to comply.

"Where's Zephaniah?" Sam asked, pulling out onto the road.

"Haven't seen her," Dean mumbled.

Sam frowned. "She went down there to let you out."

"Dunno," Dean shrugged, leaning against the door.

Sam wanted to question him more, but getting Dean back to the bunker and completing the purification ritual was the priority for the time being. Once that was done, they would find Zephaniah together and make sure she was all right.


	7. Torture

The bald demon's name was Anzu. He had been a Sumerian god at one point, but his reign had collapsed along with the civilization centuries ago. He now lived life as one of Crowley's henchmen, happy to have a place somewhere and be of some kind of importance.

Zephaniah had learned all of this in her time in Hell. Who knew how long it had really been since the exchange. She lost time when she blacked out from pain, and she wasn't even sure she remembered things in Earth time or by Hell's count.

She couldn't list all the things Anzu had done to her anymore. She knew she had broken bones, various cuts and bruises … she had vague memories of other things that had happened while she was semi-conscious, in between reality and dreaming. There was no way of telling what really happened during those time frames. Through every bit of torture, however, Zephaniah refused to scream.

"You'll break one day," Anzu laughed at her. "After all we know there has been one demon who made you scream. Where is he now, Zephaniah? You came to save him, but he has not attempted to look for you. Neither has his abomination of a brother."

Zephaniah coughed. She could barely open her eyes, but damn it, she _would_ speak. "Doesn't … matter."

Anzu tilted his head. "It doesn't matter? Did you just say it _doesn't fucking matter_? Why is that? Because you're _in love_ with him?"

She coughed again; her ribs screamed out in pain. "Because Dean Winchester is the kind of hero who can and will come back from being a monster like you. When he does, he will destroy you."

The sentence came in chunks, around Zephaniah fighting the pain and unconsciousness, between her trying to catch her breath, but it was enough for Anzu to understand what she was saying. It angered him like never before. His fist came down hard across her face, and backhanded her on the return.

Another session of torture began.

Dean was tied to a chair in the middle of the devil's trap room in the bunker. He slowly came to after a particularly rough round with the purification ritual. His eyes turned black and he roared from his seat.

"Let me outta here, Sammy," Dean growled. "This isn't your choice! I told you to let me go!"

"And you don't get to decide to just leave," Sam responded calmly. "You sold your soul for me, once. Do you remember that?"

Dean laughed. "That was before I knew how good it felt not to give a shit. Imagine it, Sammy. Not having to hurt or feel guilty over anything. You wouldn't even think about Jess or Amelia, let alone –"

He screamed out, from both anger and pain. Sam had interrupted his sentence with another injection.

"That's six," Sam announced. "Almost there."

While Dean's blood boiled, Sam grabbed for his mobile phone. He glanced at Dean before stepping outside the room.

"Cas, what's up?"

"Sam. I've located Zephaniah. It took a certain amount of effort."

"Thanks for putting in the work. Where is she?"

Castiel paused. "Hell. When she went to get Dean, Crowley's men captured her. She gave up her life for Dean's release, as well as the demon blade being returned to your possession."

Sam frowned, walking further down the hallway. "She did what? And Crowley made that trade."

"Apparently he got overzealous and accepted the deal before he realized she hadn't offered her soul."

Sam chuckled. "Wow. That's a good one. Thanks, Cas. Needed a laugh."

"Is the ritual not going well?" Castiel asked.

Even after Castiel repeated Sam's name several times, there was no reply.

When Dean sold his soul to save Sam's life, and the hellhounds came for him – the torture he endured in Hell after that was nothing like the torture he was enduring now.

He could feel the purified blood burning through his veins and arteries, threatening to take away the new-found freedom he'd enjoyed since becoming a demon. He was feeling things again, but at the same time, the demon in him felt stronger than ever. He needed … needed to get it out of his system. Needed to do away with the purification. He needed to be able to think straight.

He needed Zephaniah.

She had become his drug. Whatever it was about her, Dean hated that he _needed_ it – he sure as shit did not want it. He should have known after the first time that once wouldn't be enough. When Zephaniah left, Dean had tried not to care; even his black soul wouldn't stop him from finding her again. Leaving her the morning after their second tryst had been an exercise in sheer will power.

 _Word around town is, your little pet and that idiot brother of yours are out looking for you. I wonder which one will get to you first._

His pet. Dean had heard of demons taking humans for various forms of entertainment. He would have preferred that Zephaniah meant nothing more to him than a passing amusement. And now, with his emotions again running rampant, he wished he would have just killed her in the beginning.

Sam gradually came to, noting the dull pain at the back of his head. He reached his fingers around and felt a good sized knot. Realizing what must have happened, Sam stood up, too quickly, and nearly keeled right back over.

"You shouldn't rush to find something you already know won't be there," Castiel said from a few feet away. "The purification must have dug itself in. The irons and devil's trap couldn't hold him. You're lucky, Sam. Your brother could have killed you."

"Yeah, thanks, Cas," Sam groaned. "Great piece of optimism there."

"Sorry," Castiel mumbled. "What now?"

All Sam could think about what the throbbing at the back of his head. "I don't even know. He really doesn't want to be saved. Am I even right to keep trying?"

"I'd venture to say that Dean would do the same for you."

Sam gave a little nod, enough to be noticeable but not so emphatic that his head exploded with more pain. "Yeah, you're right. Let me get some ice on this and some pain killers, then we'll figure something out."

Crowley looked up from reviewing over his newest contracts to see one of his lower minions rushing into his throne room.

"Something on fire?" Crowley quipped, smirking at his own joke.

The demon didn't even react, simply gave a shallow bow of his head. "Someone's here to see you, sire."

Crowley frowned as movement became apparent over the demon's shoulder. Crowley waved him away as the figure became familiar. He tossed the contracts down to the floor and stood; his smirk didn't fade.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Dean _fucking_ Winchester," Crowley bit out. "You know, I made a disastrously stupid deal to allow you out of here. Can't decide if I'm furious or ecstatic that you're back."

Dean crossed him arms and got right down to business. "I want back in, Crowley. Forget all the bullshit before."

"Oh, Squirrel. If only it were that easy." Crowley sniffed the air. "Purified human blood. Wow. Sammy got to you, too?"

"It'll wear off."

"Will it? Way I hear it, it affects different people – so to speak – differently. I craved human blood for a long time after your brother tried to use me to complete the trials, Dean. What about you?"

"Wouldn't drink a drop of the stuff," Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

"At war with your feelings, then? And you were still struggling with that before your brother tried to bring you back, anyway. You must be downright hormonal."

"I'm fine," Dean insisted. "What's it going to take to get me back where I was around here?"

Crowley shrugged; the purified blood would get to Dean eventually. He'd let that play out. "You owe me a few things, for starters."

Dean raised his brow. "You had me tortured and held prisoner, and I still came back – doesn't that make us even?"

"Dare to dream," Crowley muttered. "You were sent to kill a girl. You fucked her instead, and then you let her go."

"Killing her would have killed me, which you knew and didn't tell me," Dean countered.

"Oh, I'm not finished. When you went back to find her again, instead of bringing her back to me, you fucked her again and then you essentially let her go. So, yes, after twice of you betraying my trust, I had you treated like I would any other traitor. Questions?"

Dean cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "No, I get you, Crowley. But there's still the fact of the matter that you wanted me dead in the first place. I'm willing to forgive that, if you're willing to bring me back on."

Crowley took a deep breath and licked his bottom lip while he considered it. "I'm willing to bring you back under one condition."

Dean nodded. "I'm listening."

"Zephaniah." Crowley plopped back onto his throne, placing his fingers over his chin in a pensive gesture. "We've let a girl come between us, Squirrel. Never thought I'd see the day."

Dean snorted. "Get to the point."

"My point is this," Crowley growled. "Twice, you have chosen her safety over my orders. I cannot continue to let it happen if I am to let you back in my good graces. You have to prove to me that Zephaniah's life is not your concern any more than it is a concern to the rest of us."

Dean didn't like it; after all, he was still here on traitorous terms. Maybe it would do him some good for Crowley not to know that, however. "Fine. I'll find her again and bring her to you. Then it's your call from there on out."

Crowley grinned. "I'll do you one better."

Sam's head was still throbbing when he sat down to do some research. If Dean had received six shots, how long did they have before the purification thus far was nullified and his brother again became a full-on demon? It sounded like a bad math problem from high school.

And, of course, there wasn't much on the books. Sam could only assume that without the last two shots of blood, Dean would either begin to crave human blood like Crowley had done, or, because of The Mark, simply return to being a one-hundred-percent demon.

"What if it's worse than before," Sam whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

"Sam."

The younger Winchester looked up from his notes. "Hey, Cas. Find anything?"

"The news of Dean's return to Hell is being talked about nearly everywhere – Heaven, Hell, Earth. Everywhere. Either it's a very successful rumor, or your brother has indeed returned to Crowley."

Sam groaned. "After everything … After Zephaniah gave up her life for him. It seems like such a waste."

Castiel hesitated before presenting another option to Sam. "We should consider, Sam, that Dean has returned to Hell specifically for that purpose."

"Zephaniah?"

"Yes," the angel confirmed. "From what she told you, Dean had some kind of bond with Zephaniah. Others called her his pet – they were disgusted by it. That says a lot in Hell."

"If he's there for Zephaniah, he'll eventually get her out, right? So what if we just wait it out – keep an eye for her, then we'll find Dean. We can complete the ritual and get Dean back."

Castiel was certain it wouldn't go that smoothly, but at least they had a plan.

Zephaniah looked up from where she was crumpled against the wall. Her hands were bound to the cement wall with chains and shackles. Her whole body hurt, and she had not only lost track of what torture she had endured, but also the injuries that resulted from the torture.

"I have her here," Crowley was saying just outside her door. "Anzu has been taking care of her for me. She traded her life for yours, Dean. I was stupid not to accept a deal of any less than her soul, but it seems the world is returning to a balance on that end."

"What's your point?" Dean pushed.

The door opened, and there he was, no worse for the wear. A small bit of relief flooded Zephaniah's being. When his face reacted for just a brief moment at her condition before recovering so Crowley wouldn't see, that relief increased – but only momentarily.

"If you want me to trust you again, you'll take over the task of torturing her," Crowley announced. "It's a special kind of job, and you're the best there is. You have to be careful though, not to cut too deep and not to kill her. That'd be the end of all of us, wouldn't it?"

Dean seemed to hesitate as he held Zephaniah's eyes. Nothing had made her cry in a long time, but the idea of knowing what was coming next nearly broke her.

"Do it," she urged through clenched teeth. "Do what he says, Dean. Unless you're too _weak_ to do it."

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Zephaniah; he couldn't wait to hurt her.

Dean was at war with himself. Yes, she was the thing that he needed, but that involved feelings. God, he hated that word. He hated feeling anything – wasn't that what he loved most about being a demon? The feelings came and went, most of the time not lingering long enough to be identified. From the moment Zephaniah had challenged him in that dingy motel room months ago though, Dean hadn't been able to stop feeling a wide array of emotions.

"Do it. Do what he says, Dean. Unless you're too _weak_ to do it."

She didn't mean it, and Dean knew that. He had seen her angry before, seen her challenge him several times over. That is not what this was. Zephaniah knew that in order for both of them to have any chance of survival, Dean had no choice in this situation, and she was giving him the go ahead. Despite the torture she would endure at the hands of someone who had once been her hero, Zephaniah wasn't going to stop him.

Dean's emotions continued to war back and forth with each other until, finally, anger won out over the rest of it. His eyes went black and he looked to Crowley.

"I'm going to need a few things."


	8. Emotion

While other demons and even angels had been cautious about the type of torture they inflicted on Zephaniah, sticking to cutting and burning and beating her so as not to kill her, Dean Winchester, it seemed, was pushing his boundaries.

When he walked in with Crowley, Zephaniah thought this was all a cover. She still thought that it was probably a cover to keep Dean in Crowley's good graces, but it was clear his anger was coming through, too.

He had her removed from the chains securing her to the wall and instead secured her wrists into shackles hanging from the ceiling so he had easier access to his victim.

She was missing the nails from several fingers now, and they hadn't been pulled out quickly. Several strong blows to her head and mouth not only had her spitting out a molar or two, but also brought on a bought of vomiting that had Zephaniah certain she had some type of head injury. Her lungs were still working on ridding themselves of the fluid Zephaniah had aspirated during a session of waterboarding she had endured.

Dean's current project was finding tender areas on her body and cutting the skin away so that the muscles underneath were exposed. Patches of raw flesh were dripping blood from where he had peeled her layers of skin away; a couple had blistered after contact with raw salt on the open wounds.

"Not going to scream for me now?" Dean had taunted her. "You know, Zephaniah, I'm pretty sure only whores save their screams for the bedroom. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You practically handed yourself over on a silver platter when we were together. It's been a while since I've had someone so easy, so hungry for me – and I've been with some real sluts."

As Dean heated the knife he had been using to cut her, Zephaniah fought against the heartbreak of hearing him say those words. Zephaniah hadn't felt a connection with many people in her life – one or two foster parents, a boyfriend in high school – but everything else had been fleeting interactions. The occasional one-night stand; acquaintances at work, until she had to move on to a new town to protect herself – she was used to that, but then Dean had come along. Even as a demon, Dean gave her someone to hold onto, however briefly. To hear that none of it mattered to him like it had to her, well, that broke her more than any physical torture.

She sucked in a deep breath as the knife, nearly glowing with heat, sank into the skin over her lower ribs.

"Betcha I can get down to the bone," Dean said, working on carving out a chunk of skin and thin flesh. He feigned disappointment. "The heat must be cauterizing most of the bleeders. Anti-climactic, to be honest."

Zephaniah remembered him describing his torture of the man he killed before finding Zephaniah with those demons in the hotel. Bones being broken from the outside was one thing; having them snapped away from her body was not something Zephaniah wanted to experience.

But Dean walked away from her and laid the knife down on the tray that had been brought in with the other supplies he requested after agreeing to torture her.

"And we're just getting started," he promised her, wiping the blood from his hands. He checked that Zephaniah wasn't going to be getting out of the shackles on her own and left her alone in the dark room.

The door closed and locked, but Zephaniah still would not cry out. For the chance that Dean, or anyone else, was waiting there on the other side to hear her break, she held back her cries of pain. Instead, she submitted only to the silent tears forging new trails through the blood on her cheeks.

"Anything yet?" Sam asked Castiel for what seemed to be the millionth time.

Castiel tried not to convey his frustration. "Do you think I would withhold information from you, Sam? They are both still in Hell. That's all I know."

Sam nodded and begrudgingly went back to his research. Every second, minute, and hour that passed only tightened his muscles and increased his fears.

Dean waited until Crowley was preoccupied with a few women on Earth to go back to Zephaniah.

A demon named Malphas passed him as he walked toward her cell. Dean stopped and caught the other demon's attention.

"Malphas, right?" Dean grinned. "Dean Winchester, nice to meet you."

"Winchester. I've heard of you."

"Who hasn't," Dean scoffed. "Anyway. I hear that you like to accept – we'll call them donations – donations in exchange for services rendered."

Malphas grinned. "What can I say? I'm a simple business man."

"Good. Then, I have something for you, and something I'd like you to do for me. Let me show you what I have for you first."

Malphas willingly went with Dean, following him to Zephaniah's cell. Dean opened the door and revealed the woman hanging there, most of the blood nearly dry but still dripping from a couple of her wounds.

"Her," Dean said. "I'll give you her soul. Once you have it, you can go anywhere – Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Earth – seamlessly. Her soul is the key, and it's yours. All you have to do is get her back upstairs so you can do the exchange."

Malphas tipped his head. "How long do I get her?"

"As long as you want," Dean smirked.

Malphas grinned. "You have a deal, Mr. Winchester."

The release of her wrists from the shackles and the lessening of the weight of gravity pulling on her body woke Zephaniah from unconsciousness. Her weak form fell against a broad chest; strong arms kept her upright. She was too weak to open her eyes to see much, but she knew that familiar place against his body, and she recognized his smell.

"You're okay," she whispered out on a shallow breath.

Dean's human emotions got the best of him; he held her tighter. "I hurt you so badly, and you're worried about me."

Zephaniah swallowed best she could. "I forgive you."

"Stop it," he replied coldly. His unstable soul couldn't take her forgiveness. He'd give himself away to Malphas, and his entire plan would go to pot. "This is Malphas. He'll get you back on the level, all right?"

Zephaniah didn't have the energy to ask questions or argue about Malphas. There was only one thing she wanted to know, but since they weren't alone, she was afraid to ask him. Instead, she just kept quiet and went with Malphas.

As they walked down the hallway and she could feel the pull of Earth as they started to leave Hell, she chanced one last glance back at her green-eyed demon.

She didn't remember a whole lot about how she'd gotten from that cell in Hell to the front of the hospital, but she knew what had happened once she got there.

Malphas had tried to possess her, Zephaniah knew that. Although she probably couldn't have given consent if she wanted to with the state she was in, she managed to shake her head, briefly, once. Malphas frowned and tried again.

"Can't," Zephaniah managed to get out.

"What?" Malphas frowned before scowling. "I do believe I've been had. But how …"

While he was trying to figure it out, Zephaniah leaned back, away from his hold. She fell to the ground and an ambulance crew coming out of the hospital saw her.

"Hey!" one of them cried as the two men ran over to her. They lifted her as carefully as possible, shouting for help as they carried her toward to the ambulance bay doors.

Zephaniah was able to look back just in time to see a demon she recognized as one of Crowley's henchmen stab Malphas through the heart. A storm brewed under the demon's skin until the body fell to the ground, and the henchman disappeared.

 _Antiseptic._

Zephaniah knew that smell. She knew that smell because she had been exposed to it time and time again over the years, when angels or demons left her to die on her own and she had been found by some Good Samaritan who dropped her at the hospital.

She heard the steady beep of the heart monitor quicken as her eyes fluttered open. Her entire body was burning with pain. A nurse rushed in, pushed a syringe of something into her IV, and the pain went away.

"Just rest, dear," the nurse told her. "You were severely injured. We'll get some information from you when you're feeling better."

The images wouldn't stop.

Dean slowly pulling her fingernails away from her fingers. Anzu laying hot metal across her back. Dean cutting her skin away to reveal her ribs underneath the flesh. Anzu laughing maniacally as she gasped for breath after Dean had poured water over her bag-covered head.

No, that wasn't right. Anzu wasn't there for that.

Anzu calling her Dean's pet. Dean implying that she was nothing more than a whore. Crowley imploring Dean to torture his whore.

No. That hadn't happened either. Not exactly that way.

Crowley coming in, pulling her ribs open, pulling pieces of her heart away. Dean in the door frame, watching it happen. Xavier came in, joining Crowley in demolishing her heart.

That hadn't happened. Xavier wasn't a demon. He wasn't in Hell. Crowley hadn't laid a hand on her; he let others take care of that for him.

 _The images wouldn't stop_.

Two weeks later, Zephaniah woke up from her medically induced coma. A doctor explained that the extent of her injuries required that she be put under to allow her brain and her body to heal.

"Ms. Jordan, to say that your injuries were severe is an understatement," the doctor sighed, taking a seat in the rolling stool next to her bed. "Who did this to you?"

Zephaniah lied. "I don't remember. No one's told me yet; what is today?"

The doctor told her the date.

"And I've been out for two weeks?"

The doctor nodded. "After your first couple of hours here, you tried to wake up, but the pain had you so worked up, your heart nearly gave out. That's when we put you under."

Zephaniah did some quick figuring in her head. That meant she had made the exchange with Crowley six weeks ago and had been in Hell for around a month. _Only_ a month. It had felt like years. Did that mean that instead of the full day it felt like Dean was torturing her, it was only a couple of hours?

"Ms. Jordan?"

"Zeph," she said, a faraway look in her eyes. "Call me Zeph."

"Zeph," the doctor smiled kindly. "Your memories will may or may not come back with time. We'll get you in touch with a psychiatrist to help you work through all of that."

Clearly the man hadn't seen all of her medical records. She was still "working through" a lot of things. "When can I leave?"

The doctor accepted the fact that Zephaniah wasn't going to be giving up any information any time soon. He promised her that after a few more days of observation, they would send her on her way.

The first thing Zephaniah did when she left the hospital was to throw away her aftercare papers and hail a cab. Her prescription for painkillers was in those papers, but with no desire to leave a trail of where she'd been or where she was going, she'd have to suffer through.

Once back at her apartment, Zephaniah packed up everything she couldn't stand to leave behind and loaded it in her car. She cursed herself as she realized that even if she felt safe, there was no way she could stay here.

The building hallway reminded her that Dean had come her rescue when Xavier had attempted to force himself on her. The kitchen reminded her of the stupid smirk on his face while he waited for her to clean up the broken glass bottle. The hallway reminded her of his face between her legs, and the bedroom reminded her of falling asleep on his bare, broad chest.

So, Zephaniah turned in her key and apologized to the landlord for cutting out on her lease. The man must have felt pity for her because he took one look at her visible injuries, assumed domestic violence, and told her not to worry about it.

She drove to within an hour of the bunker. Every mile that passed was another mile closer to safety. When she got that close though, she couldn't make herself drive anymore. She couldn't bring herself to face Sam – to tell him that once again, she was out of Hell, but his brother was still there. Still a demon.

A week later and she had secured not only a new apartment but a job as well. She decided against the diners and bars she usually applied to and instead managed to procure a job as the front desk manager at a local garage. The daytime hours were nice, her co-workers were friendly, and no one asked about where she came from or what had caused the scars on her arms and face, or why she walked and moved so stiffly. Zephaniah figured that like her previous landlord, her new boss assumed domestic violence and tried to help her out.

She was enjoying a pizza and a bottle of beer when a knock sounded at the door. Immediately, she was on the defense; no one was supposed to know she was here. She was certain none of her co-workers would stop by, let alone unannounced. Checking the peephole, Zephaniah decided the man didn't look harmful; it was worth it to open the door and find out for sure.

"Hello, Zephaniah."

 _Slam_. If he knew her name, then that was all Zephaniah needed to know. The fact that he had greeted her first, and in such a gentle tone, made her think he was probably and angel, not a demon. When he appeared inside her locked apartment and the holy water did nothing to him, her suspicions were confirmed.

"Who are you?" she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "Can we make this easy for once? You cannot have my soul. We both know what'll happen if you kill me. Please. I'm almost happy. I've started over, I have a good job, I'm healing. _Please_."

It was the first time in her life that she had begged any being not to hurt her. Perhaps it was the fact that Zephaniah still lived in pain all day every day, but she had little to no fight in her just then.

"I'm not here to harm you," the angel promised, holding his hands up and taking a couple of steps away from her. "My name is Castiel. I know the Winchesters."

Zephaniah's breath caught in her throat. "Dean …"

"He's okay," Castiel promised. "As far as I know, he's still in Hell, still working for Crowley. Safe."

Zephaniah nodded, trying to rein in her emotions. She hated to appear weak.

"Dean is, however, what I've come here to talk to you about," Castiel informed.

Her breathing slowed as she took a seat back on the couch and turned off the television. She swallowed hard as she looked up at Castiel. "I'm listening."


	9. Amends

"So you see," Castiel summed up, "Dean Winchester is quite important to the survival of our world."

Zephaniah just stared, trying to process everything Castiel had told her. Not only was Dean a hunter in his former life, he and Sam were among the best hunters in the history of the trade. Dean was a direct descendant of Cain, Michael's true vessel, and had both started and stopped the apocalypse in his lifetime.

Beyond the business end of things, Castiel had shared with Zephaniah about Dean's mother. How Mary had been raised a hunter but wanted differently for her children. About how Dean's father, John, had been the son of a Man of Letters, a Legacy without even knowing it. Castiel told Zephaniah about Mary's agreement with Azazel, about how it had allowed the yellow-eyed demon to come into the Winchesters' home and feed his demon blood to Sam. About everything that had followed after Mary died in that fire.

"I guess I can't blame him for getting to this point," Zephaniah finally sighed, getting up from the couch. She didn't know where she would go, but she couldn't sit anymore. She knew that.

Castiel nodded. "Human nature would certainly allow for it. You see though, Zephaniah, there are many more things that Dean Winchester is meant to save the world from before his time comes. If he stays with Crowley, he will, eventually, die. Before his time. Hundreds of people he is meant to save will die."

"I get it. I'm just – it's a lot to process all at once. You know, I mean, normally, you get this kind of information over a period of time. This is Dean's entire life thrown at me all at once."

"I know that," Castiel said apologetically. "It seems though, Zephaniah, that Dean has made some kind of connection with you."

Zephaniah's head snapped up to look at Castiel. "A connection? You think Dean has a connection with me? Castiel, listen. Every bit of the torture I most recently endured was Dean's doing. Don't get me wrong. I get why he did it. He had to keep himself safe. I told him to do it. But he said things – he did things … There's no connection, Castiel. Dean was being truthful when he told me I was just an opportunity."

Castiel wished that Zephaniah could see what he saw; what he knew. "Dean's emotions are all over the place right now. Sam was able to complete part of the purification ritual to cure Dean. He got through six of the eight injections – it leaves the demon in a strange limbo. Able to feel human emotion, not restricted by irons and devil's traps, but still a demon."

Zephaniah shook her head. "You don't have to tell me that. I saw him. I saw his eyes."

Her tone was cold, but Castiel knew that it wasn't from anger. It was from hurt and betrayal. He took a deep breath and did the best he could.

"I know that you were just beginning to trust someone again. Even if Dean is a demon, I know the high hopes you had for that relationship. And then he broke you."

"Yes, he did," Zephaniah snapped. "Just like the rest of them. Like my mother, like almost every foster parent I had. Like every demon and angel who has come and gone in the attempt to get me to give up my soul."

Castiel pursed his lips. "At any rate, Sam and I believe that Dean may try to find you again. We have to complete that ritual, or the entire future of the world may be re-written. It won't be for the better."

"Yeah, okay," Zephaniah replied, running a hand through her hair. "I'll throw a prayer your way if he shows up. But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you, Castiel."

"Why would I hold my breath?" Castiel frowned.

Zephaniah waved him off. "Nevermind. I'll do what I can if he shows up."

Castiel gave a brief nod and thanked her before disappearing with a flutter of wings. Zephaniah just shook her head, marveling at what her life had come to. Angels and demons used to be something she avoided at all costs, and here she was conspiring with the former, and the latter – well, a lot had happened there.

She was doubtful that Dean would show up in her life again, but there was a slight chance, Zephaniah supposed. She was fairly certain that he had orchestrated the deal with Malphas to get her out of Hell without any suspicion falling on his shoulders.

Biting her bottom lip, Zephaniah decided it was definitely time to drown her sorrows and the pain building from her injuries in the bottle of whiskey on top of her fridge.

"She's doubting that Dean will come to her," Castiel explained to Sam.

Sam frowned. "How could that be? I thought they had a, you know, connection or something."

Castiel sighed and fell into a chair. "Zephaniah has been broken time and time again. Since her mother was possessed when Zephaniah was younger and tried to kill her, the girl hasn't trusted anyone. Despite the fact that Dean came first to kill her, whatever conspired between them since then, gave her hope that he would save her again."

"She told me that she didn't want Dean to be her hero."

"What humans want and what they need, they often confuse."

"And she didn't _want_ him to be her hero because something like him torturing her might happen, and then it would be another connection broken," Sam summed up. "Can't say I blame her for that."

"No, me either," Castiel muttered. "But she's important, Sam. She's important to Dean, whether he realizes it or not."

Sam just licked his lips and nodded. He hoped and prayed the connection hadn't been broken, or their chance to get his brother back once and for all could be lost.

The bottle of whiskey wasn't quite half-gone, but Zephaniah was.

She was laying on her back on the living room floor, bottle next to her, talking to no one in particular.

"I've been stupid. I believed that a demon could – could _feel_ something for me." She laughed out loud. "That may be the stupidest thing I've ever thought, let alone said out loud. I mean, really. What kind of demon really looks out for a human? One who holds the key to every realm in the supernatural universe. What is that? What was I thinking?"

"That I had saved you once and maybe I would save you again," Dean answered, appearing on the couch.

Zephaniah scrambled to sit up; her head spun. "That was too fast. What are you doing here? Wait – are you really here? Because I'm drunk and it's quite possible that I'm seeing things. Except that this is supposed to be a happy drunk, and you're not exactly the person or whatever I want to see right now."

"Sorry to disappoint," Dean replied, reaching for the bottle of whiskey before taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against the couch. "Blackberry whiskey? Fruity liquor?"

"You won't be disappointed," Zephaniah assured, shaking a finger at him before crawling on all fours to lean on the couch next to him. "What are you doing here, Dean?"

He shrugged around a swig of the liquor. "That is good. I'm here … to make sure that you're all right, Zeph."

Her jaw dropped a little as his words sobered her just enough for Zephaniah to feel the sharpest pains Dean's words and actions had brought on. She didn't want to cry, but the tears came before she could even attempt to control them.

"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that you care," she said quietly. "I know that you had to cover in front of Crowley, but Dean … the things you said. The things you did. You can't take that back." She stood up, throwing her hands in the air. "Fuck this. Fuck this! I'm done with this not feeling shit thing. I'm done holding it all inside. I can't anymore. Do you know why? Because of _you_. You ruined me, damn it. I was just fine. I was fine being on my own and not needing anyone. Then you found me in that warehouse – I held onto that moment when you carried me out of there for a long time. I kept waiting for you to come back. And then, when you did, you were a demon. A fucking demon. But that didn't – it was just …" She threw her hands up in the air as the tears won out. "I'm just drunk. That's all."

Dean knew it was more than her being drunk. He had hurt her, in more ways than one. Taking a step forward, Dean pulled her to him and sat both of them on the couch. He rested his chin on her head and held her while she cried.

"I know," Dean said. "I know, I hurt you."

When the tears stopped, Zephaniah pulled away and reached for the whiskey again. She took a good size gulp before handing it over to him.

"I'm going to dive into some beer, too, I think. Interested?"

"Sure, I'll drink one or two," he replied. He made room for her on the couch when she came back, accepting the beer she offered, using it to chase down another drink of whiskey. "Zeph, listen to me. What happened in Hell –"

"Don't," she interrupted him. "Don't say anything else. I'll cry again and I'm sure you've had plenty of that for one evening."

Dean shrugged. "My emotions have been a little all over the place, too. Don't worry about it."

"Castiel mentioned something about that."

"Cas? He was here?"

Zephaniah nodded. "I was supposed to tell him and Sam if you showed up. Well, they said when. I said if."

"Fair enough," Dean shrugged. "When should I be expecting them? Did you make the call when you were getting the beers?"

"Actually, my phone is in my room." She sighed and pulled her knees to her chest. "I know that I should call them, but this really selfish part of me – the part that's still hurting – wants you here to make it better."

"I can give you tonight, I suppose." After all, there didn't seem to be much harm in giving over to his softening emotions if it meant Zephaniah might forgive him.

"Thank you."

There was an awkward silence as they both finished off their beers. Zephaniah went to the kitchen for two more beers and came back with shot glasses as well. She poured them each a shot of the whiskey and clinked her glass against his.

"To making it out of Hell," she chuckled before shooting it back.

Dean couldn't argue with her there. "I know that I'm not supposed to keep talking about it, but there's something I really need you to understand about what happened in Hell. I was angry. I had just gotten out of the bunker and away from Sam and these human emotions were coming back to me. I was angry that you made that exchange, and I was angry at how angry it made me to see you like that. What I really wanted to do was torture Crowley for allowing anything to happen to you."

Zephaniah frowned. "Why wouldn't I make that exchange? You can fight it or argue with me all you want, but I've known all along that this isn't you, Dean. You're a hero whether you want to be or not. Whether I want you to be or not."

Dean leaned forward on his elbows and blew out a deep breath. "Being a demon is so much easier, though. I don't have to feel guilty or feel any sense of obligation – well, until you came along and ruined that."

She gave him a ghost of smile. "Sorry. But I know the feeling."

"The thing is, since my mom died and my dad decided he needed to go after the thing that killed her, my life has been all about taking care of Sam and making sure my Dad didn't lose his shit or drink himself to death. After he died, it was just about Sammy. Everything was about Sammy. I loved my brother –"

"Love your brother," Zephaniah corrected.

"But having someone else's life to be your responsibility, it's huge. Then, it wasn't just Sam. It was anyone who was in danger, you know. It's like the weight of the world was on my shoulders – do you know how many times my actions have decided the fate of the world?"

Zephaniah watched him pace back and forth in her living room while he went on about how he'd started to feel a taste of that freedom the first time he killed with the Mark.

"It was the first time in a long time that I wasn't in control. I probably should have been scared out of my fucking mind, but I just felt _relieved_. I'd gotten a taste of this – shit, I don't even know what to call it. A feeling, I guess, that I'd wanted to experience for such a long time but never had. I didn't want it to stop. Then, when Metatron killed me, I figured it was over. But somehow, I heard Crowley talking to me, urging me to wake up. And when I did, and I realized I was a demon," he took a seat back on the couch, "and I realized I had no one else to care about but myself. The weight of the world was no longer on my shoulders."

Zephaniah poured herself a shot, swallowed it down, then moved over to Dean's lap. She straddled over his hips, nipping at his bottom lip. "You don't exactly only care about yourself. I mean, we keep ending up here."

Dean ran his hands from her hips, up through her hair, tightening his grip on her locks and pulling her in for a rough kiss; why didn't that feel right? He pulled back slightly, realizing how tense Zephaniah had become.

"Zephaniah, I'm not going to hurt you again. I swear."

Her eyes watered. Dean let go of her hair to cup her face before softly massaging her lips with his own. He pulled away again to look her in the eye; her tears were gone, but Dean could clearly see the need there.

Dean stood, pulling her legs around him and walking back toward the bedroom. "We'll skip the hallway this time."

Zephaniah giggled as he set her on the bed and pulled her shirt over her head. She had discarded her bra before she started drinking, so that wasn't a worry. He pulled his own shirt off before going back to her, easing her towards the pillows.

"Are you okay to do this?" he asked her. "I mean, physically. I really …"

"Did a number on me?" Zephaniah finished. She looked up at his face, barely visible by the moonlight filtering in through the blinds. "Yeah, you did. But I'm okay. I've been drinking a lot. I'm not feeling much right now in the way of injuries."

Dean smiled. "Good."

"You have a good smile," Zephaniah said, leaning up to kiss him. "You should smile more."

"Then I should be around you more."

Zephaniah kissed him again while he maneuvered her sweats and panties off before pushing his jeans and boxers away from his legs. Dean settled over her again, kissing her gently and trailing a hand down her torso then abdomen, ending up between her legs to help her be a little readier to take him. The soft sounds she made sparked a feeling in him he hadn't ever experienced, demon or otherwise.

Before he pushed into her, Zephaniah put a hand on his chest. "You're not going to disappear after, when I'm asleep. Right?"

Dean shook his head; one end of his mouth turned upwards. "I'll be right next to you."

His eyes turned black in the moment that Dean slid himself inside her, reminding Zephaniah that he was still a demon. Still capable of hurting her. Yet, here he was, loving her instead.

For now.


	10. Cured

When Zephaniah woke the next morning and looked to the pillow next to her, a lump formed in her throat.

The other side of the bed was empty.

Forcing herself out of bed, she sighed and pulled her phone off the charger. "Should have known."

Seeing she had no messages – not that she expected any, except maybe from Sam, asking if she had heard from Dean – she tossed her phone on the bed and decided to make way for the kitchen. Coffee was definitely in order.

She was surprised to see that Dean had left one of his shirts strewn over the end of her bed. Picking up the red button-up, Zephaniah held it to her face and inhaled his scent.

"No sulfur," she noted quietly, pulling the shirt over her arms and buttoning it up to mid-cleavage.

The sight that greeted her in the kitchen immediately dissolved the lump in her throat and defeated the tears that had threatened to fall.

Her demon was at the stove, frying eggs and sipping at a bottle of beer. She could smell the coffee brewing.

He hummed as he cooked, not a song she would have expected him to know, but one that certainly fitting to them, Zephaniah decided. She bit her bottom lip, half-hiding behind the door frame, waiting for him to turn around and catch her.

When he finally did turn around, Dean smiled; not like he had smiled the night before. Zephaniah should have known then that things this morning were not as they were the night before, but seeing him in such a setting made her care about little else.

"Morning," he greeted, sliding two eggs onto a plate with bacon and toast. "Breakfast?"

Zephaniah smiled and nodded, taking a seat at the table. "Thank you."

Dean didn't acknowledge her gratitude. Zephaniah couldn't stop smiling as she ate; for the first time in her life, something felt like home.

She had finished one egg and was on to the toast and bacon when Dean finally leaned against the counter and asked what was with the smile.

"It's just eggs," he scoffed.

Zephaniah's warmed heart began to chill again. The words Dean had said to her while he tortured her in Hell flashed through her memory. Despite that, she decided to be honest.

Between last night and this morning, I've never seen you look so human," she explained softly. "Besides those years ago, I guess. It's nice to see."

Dean hated to hear her say that. To him, it meant that Zephaniah had gotten in a long line of people who wished him to be anything but what he was – and that had been the problem his whole life. His dad, Sam, even Bobby and Castiel at times. Someone always wanted Dean to be different, to act different, to say different.

"This is what I am now, Zephaniah," Dean bit out. "Whatever you think this is, or is going to be, forget it. I fucked up in Hell, took it too far – I'll give you that. After this though, I'm done. You're nothing but trouble for me. Got it?"

Zephaniah cleared her throat and stood; he hated seeing those tears well in her eyes. "I get it. I'll get dressed so you can have your shirt back."

"While you're at it, get rid of whatever warm, fuzzy feeling you had about us because it ain't happening, sweetheart!" Dean yelled after her.

He heard her bedroom door shut quietly, heard the lock click, and the soft sound of drawers sliding open. He imagined her changing out of his shirt and into clothes of her own. The disappointed look on her face etched into his brain. It was a less intense version of the same look Dean had received when he tortured her in Hell.

More than being bothered by the fact that Zephaniah liked seeing the human side of him, Dean was nearly destroyed by the fact that she was losing trust in him. Taking a couple gulps of his beer, he made way for her room and knocked loudly on the door.

"Listen, I'm sorry, all right?" He didn't sound sorry, but he was trying. "I told you. I'm all over the place right now. Who knows what'll happen when I get back to normal? I mean, whatever normal is."

The response Dean received was a silence that was _too_ silent. There was no muffled crying, no angered groans – not even the sound of her breathing. Dean panicked and kicked the locked door open.

Zephaniah was gone. His red shirt was thrown on the edge of the mattress. Her phone was still there, but Zephaniah was gone. A less-than-enticing odor invaded his nose.

"Sulfur," Dean said out loud. "Crowley."

Pulling the red button-up over his cotton t-shirt, Dean immediately began mapping a mental plan to not only get Zephaniah back, but to destroy Crowley in the process.

He was stopped by Castiel appearing in his path. Dean growled.

"Outta my way, Castiel."

Castiel stood strong. "Zephaniah is less of a concern to me than you are right now."

"Yeah, well, she's my _only_ concern right now. Crowley will end her – maybe not her life, but she can't take much more torture. She'll give up her soul!"

"And Crowley will have access to all of the realms – but what if you are not whole enough to stop him? Who will save her then?"

Dean charged forward, but with the purified blood still in his system, Castiel was quicker and stronger.

In seconds, the angel and the demon went from Zephaniah's bedroom to the devil's trap in the bunker.

Zephaniah locked the door behind her, knowing if Dean really wanted in the room, it wouldn't keep him out. Still, she wanted as much space between them as she could get just then. As she pulled clothes from her drawers, she pleaded with herself not to cry, and wondered how many times she would allow Dean to break her before she started to fight back.

"He's just not that into you, eh?"

Zephaniah had changed her clothes and bent to pick up Dean's red shirt from the floor when the accented voice spoke up behind her. Swallowing hard and tossing Dean's shirt on the bed, she turned slowly.

"Crowley."

He smirked at her. "Should have told your boyfriend not to leave a trail, dear girl."

"He's not – it isn't like that."

"Don't try to save him now, Zephaniah," Crowley sighed. "You're both done for – I've found your weak spot, and his. Time for a trade, don't you think?"

Without giving her time to answer, Crowley grabbed for her hand. Before he could drag her downstairs, Zephaniah said a one-word prayer.

 _Castiel_.

"That's how you found me," Dean grumbled from the chair he once again found himself tied to. "She prayed to you."

"Zephaniah knows what your importance is to the future of the world, Dean," Castiel explained. "When Crowley came for her, she did what she had to do to keep the Earth spinning."

Dean pulled at the ropes tying him down. "Zephaniah doesn't understand, you two don't understand! If she gives up her soul, that won't just be a few battles lost, we'll lose the whole damn war."

Sam shook his head, loading the first of a new series of injections into a syringe. "This is about _you_ , Dean. It's about The Mark. It's not about some girl!"

"She's not some girl!" Dean roared, his eyes turning black and the growl coming from deep within him. "This is not about her _because_ she's a girl! This is about Crowley, having his run of the fucking place – handing him every damn thing we've fought to keep away from him!"

Sam traded a look with Castiel; Dean wasn't exactly wrong. If they let Zephaniah give up her soul, they may not be prepared to stop Crowley from taking over or starting an all-out apocalypse, or whatever else he saw fit.

"Just let me get her," Dean pleaded in a calmer voice. "Let me get her out of Hell, and I'll come right back here and let you cure me. Don't get me wrong, I like the disease, but if it's what I need to do to save her – to save everyone – then so be it."

Castiel squinted as he mentally turned Dean's words over his mind. Sam put a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

"I think he's telling the truth, Cas," Sam said.

"I believe you're right," Castiel agreed, still sounding skeptic. "What do you want to do?"

Sam took a deep breath and stepped in front of his brother. He held the syringe in one hand and the demon blade in the other. Now he just had to pray he was making the right choice.

The lashing of the whip that Anzu was using on her flowed the tears from Zephaniah's eyes, but she refused to say even a single word. She wouldn't answer Crowley's questions about Dean, whether it would have her speaking for or against him, and she, of course, refused to give permission to possession.

The shrapnel embedded in the whip dragged through her skin and muddled the flesh on her back. She wondered how many lashes until her spine would become visible. Her biggest regret at that point was a pain-tolerance that kept her from passing out due to the pain. Eventually, the blood loss would have to do the job for her.

"We can quite literally go through this for eternity, Zephaniah," Crowley warned in a sing-song voice.

She didn't even raise her eyes to meet his. Crowley continued, coming down the steps to kneel in front of her.

"What if I dangled a little squirrel in front of you?" Crowley wondered aloud. "Would you bite then?"

Zephaniah swallowed, and coughed. Her throat was rough and dry. She wasn't sure she could even speak if she tried.

"Leave him out of this," Zephaniah managed.

"I wish I could, but you see, dear girl, Dean has a lot to do with this. The two of you have become somewhat problematic for me." Crowley reached out to caress her face; Zephaniah pulled away. "You see, since The Mark brought Dean back as a demon, he did work for me. Closed out contracts, negotiated new terms – some dirty work, I'll admit. But he was _fun_ , too. There were these twins once … anyway. Not something you'd probably be especially interested in hearing about." He stood and began to pace slowly in front of her. "Since I sent him after you, however, the fun's just not so fun anymore. The thing is, Dean and I have let a girl come between us and, unfortunately for you, you're that girl. So, here we are."

Zephaniah worked up a few good breaths. "So you've got me down here because you're jealous?"

Crowley glared at her. "I've got you down here because my knight won't fight for me anymore because he's too busy fighting for you! And it stops _now_. Anzu!"

The bald demon resumed his task, and the whip once again ripped through Zephaniah's flesh.

He would take no chances this time. There was no covering with Crowley, trying to save his own ass. Dean's only interest was getting Zephaniah out of Hell, for good.

With the demon blade in hand, he was able to plow through the other demons, waiting for him to come after her. When he reached the doors to Crowley's throne room, the last of the guards he took down laughed through the blood pouring from his mouth.

"Crowley knew you would come," the demon laughed. "He knew that you couldn't stay away from her. He's been waiting this whole time for you to end her, so that he could end you. And you're walking right into his lair. How stupid are you, Winchester?"

With a final stab to the heart, Dean ended that demon. He didn't need some low-level minion telling him what he already knew.

Once inside the room, Dean took in the scene. He could see Zephaniah, chained to the floor and blood soaked through her shirt, beginning to drip down to the cement around her. He watched as Anzu snapped that whip down to her skin, drawing more blood.

The rage inside him burned so hot, The Mark on his arm glowed.

Charging forward through the crowd and taking down any demon who dared stand in his way, Dean made way directly for Anzu. The moment Dean plunged the demon blade through Anzu's spine, the whip cracked down over Zephaniah one last time.

Anzu gasped for breath as the storm of death brewed beneath his skin. Crowley watched with a modicum of surprise as Anzu fell to the floor, revealing Dean standing behind him. Dean made way for Zephaniah, who was mumbling something no one could make out.

"Don't touch her, Dean!" Crowley yelled out, holding a hand out and forcing Dean back against a nearby column and holding him there. Zephaniah mumbled again, and Crowley leaned forward, sure that she was giving up her soul in exchange for Dean's safety. "What's that, dear girl?"

"Fuck you," she said louder, spitting blood at him. "Hell will freeze over before I give permission for _anyone_ , demon or otherwise, to possess me. My soul is mine, and only mine."

She felt her shackles release as Crowley picked her up by the throat and tossed her to the ground with demonic force. She couldn't get up from the floor, but she couldn't breathe either. She clawed at her throat, desperate for air she couldn't get to.

"Crowley, stop!" Dean yelled.

Zephaniah's eyes glanced over at Dean, doing a double-take. When Crowley had forced Dean against that column, the demon blade had clattered the ground in front on him. The weapon was now out in the open, in anybody's reach – as was Dean.

"Oh, I see," Crowley smiled, releasing Zephaniah to breathe and stand again. He was, in a second, next to Dean with the demon blade. "He's still a demon, Zephaniah. You or him. Who's it going to be?"

Zephaniah was panicking, Dean could see it in her eyes. She truly believed that he couldn't die, but if she let herself go, they would all die. Then, realization came over her dirty, bloody features. _Yes. If I die, we all die._

"You're wrong," Zephaniah said, struggling to stand up. "My choice is not my life or Dean's. The choice is yours, Crowley. The choice is me, or everything you've built here."

She pulled a knife from her boot and positioned it over her heart. A small nick in her skin from the tip of the blade breaking through her skin produced first blood, and then a glowing wave of light. All of Hell began to quake.

"This is one little cut," Zephaniah bit out. "Imagine what would happen if I shoved the whole knife in."

Crowley hesitated; Zephaniah pushed the knife in a little further. The quake continued, stronger now than before.

"Fine!" Crowley roared. "You are free to go."

"Both of us."

Crowley debated for another moment; letting Zephaniah go was one thing. He could get her back. If he let Dean go now, this chaos would continue. He hesitated too long for Zephaniah's liking; she pushed the knife in a little further, taking a sharp breath in as the blade passed through the space between her ribs. Chunks of cement and debris began to fall from the ceiling as the light emanating from her wound shined even brighter.

With a look that showed it just might have been physically painful for Crowley to do so, the King of Hell released Dean from the column where he'd been held and winced as Dean came to take the demon blade from Crowley's hand.

Dean walked over to Zephaniah, ready to brace her up if she didn't have the energy to walk herself. One look from Zephaniah told him that if she touched her, forced her to show any weakness here, she just might grab that demon blade and end him with it.

"This isn't over!" Crowley yelled after them.

"Yes, it is," Zephaniah answered.

With one last glance at Crowley, Zephaniah and Dean walked out of that room together. Standing in the hall outside, the doors slammed shut behind them, and Crowley could be heard roaring about what had just happened. Dean looked over at Zephaniah, took her hand, and gave a single nod.

"Let's get out of here."

Back on the street, Zephaniah looked at Dean. She could feel the goodbye coming; there was so much that she wanted to say to him, but her head was beginning to swim.

"Thank you, Dean, for coming after me."

Dean nodded, then really took in her appearance. "You feeling all right? You don't look too good, Zeph."

She licked her lips, forcing herself to stay conscious. "I was down there for a while. Then the whole, you know, stabbing myself in the heart."

"Yeah, that probably wasn't your wisest decision," Dean smirked.

"I lost a lot of …"

Before she could finish her sentence, Zephaniah was falling to the ground. Dean caught her before she hit the gravel; they needed to get back to the bunker.

"You have to help her."

Castiel and Sam turned around to see Dean standing in the library of the bunker, holding Zephaniah's limp body. Dean himself was a little worse for the wear.

"Let me take her," Castiel offered.

"Cas," Dean pleaded. "You have to save her. Please."

"I'll do what I can," Castiel promised, taking Zephaniah to a spare bedroom to see what he could do. He could already tell that her blood volume was at a lethal level; still living on borrowed grace was going to make this a difficult task.

Dean watched them disappear down the hallway, until he felt Sam's hand on his shoulder. He turned to his brother and nodded.

"Yeah. It's time."

Zephaniah dreamed about sleeping next to Dean on a warm summer night. She dreamed about the soft cotton of a nightgown against her skin, of Dean's bare chest while he slept next to her. She dreamed of him rolling over, kissing her forehead and pulling her closer, before they drifted off to a gentle sleep as he said her name over and over.

"Zephaniah."

When her name broke through that time, it wasn't in Dean's voice. It was, in fact, pulling her away from Dean and that warm, summer night. She fought against it, but the voice repeated her name, pulling her farther and farther away from that perfect dream.

Suddenly, Zephaniah was close enough to the surface of reality, that she felt the electricity pulsing through her body again. She felt the impulses in her heart encourage the muscle to pump again, which forced blood to circulate through her system. She felt new wounds close and old wounds disappear, as though none of them had ever even happened.

Then, she was gasping for breath, her eyes shooting open. Her head pounded with sensations and memories. Every muscle and joint in her body screamed out with pain at feeling again.

All she wanted, was to be dead.

Dean could feel the disease slipping away. He could feel the purified blood doing its job and cleansing him of everything – almost everything. It had been a painful process, but with every injection, Dean thought of Sam and Castiel and Zephaniah.

He didn't want to let go of this freedom. He didn't want to let go of the guilt-free, non-obligatory life that he had been living. In the end, though, that life hadn't turned out much different than the one he had led before.

As he came to and opened his eyes, they filled with black. Sam and Castiel watched, ready to defend themselves if the ritual hadn't worked. The black faded away though, and Dean felt like he could breathe again.

He looked to his brother and his friend. "You look worried, fellas."

The other two men exchanged a look; Sam stepped forward and splashed the contents of the flask in his hand on Dean's face.

Nothing happened, and they all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Sam nodded. "Welcome back, Dean."

Once Dean had the chance to process that he was no longer a demon, he asked for Zephaniah. Castiel pursed his lips and took him to the room where Zephaniah was.

"Bringing her back was difficult," Castiel warned. "When I healed her, the healing went much deeper than new wounds. She woke to feeling physically brand new, and it was a lot of sensations at once. It overwhelmed her senses, and made it difficult for her to wake up."

"Is she …?"

Castiel stopped at a door, pushing it open, and shrugged. "See for yourself."

Taking a deep breath, Dean stepped into the room. When he saw her, his breath caught in his throat.

Zephaniah was sitting on the bed, freshly showered and looking nervous. When she realized there was movement in the room, she looked up and her eyes filled with tears. She stood slowly from the bed and approached him carefully.

"They told me that you were out of it – unconscious, I mean. Castiel thought maybe it would be better if I waited here." Zephaniah froze in her steps. "You're not – I mean, if you are it's fine, I – Dean?"

"You're beautiful."

The words were out of his mouth before he could control them. He had always found Zephaniah to be beautiful, was obviously attracted to her, but with the demon gone, he could tell her now. And, since Castiel had healed her wounds and a lifetime worth of scars, it was as though Dean was looking at a brand new version of Zephaniah. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, with none of the thick, scarred tissue marring it. No wonder waking up had been such a shock for her.

She smiled as they met halfway; even her eyes were shining differently. Dean's hands ran up the length of her arms to cup her face, and Zephaniah wrapped her arms around him.

"What if it isn't the same?" she wondered aloud.

"Zephaniah," Dean said, feeling as though he couldn't say her name enough now. It sounded somehow different in this form. "You and I have a connection. There's no getting around that."

Her hand ran over The Mark on his arm. "I still feel the key in my soul. They'll. still come after me."

"We all have our demons," Dean smirked as he leaned in to kiss her.

A/N: There is a sequel to this entitled Angels Among Us, which I will begin posting later today!


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